The Flower Lady & Her Pest
by AsteriaStone
Summary: Queens. A place known for a few nifty facts. It was a city named after the Queen herself, it was where the Ramones got their first big break, and apparently – it was known for having a secret. A friendly little helper, always too quick for anyone to catch – the Spiderman. What happens when a chronically tired florist is the first to be thrown into the young hero's path? OCxSpidey.
1. Chapter 1 - Queens

**The Flower Lady & Her Pest.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1 – Queens**

 **Summary:** Queens. A place not known for much other than a few nifty facts. It was a city named after the Queen herself, it was where the Ramones got their first big break, and apparently – it was a place known for having a secret. A friendly little helper, always a bit too quick for anyone to catch – the Spiderman. What happens when a chronically tired florist is the first to be thrown into the young hero's path? Spiderman X OC. Slightly AU-ish.

* * *

I breathed in a lungful of the busy city smog, tucking the box of flowers a touch more securely into the crooks of my arms.

Queens was a place in constant motion, always, for as long as I'd known it.

It was odd too, different from any other I'd ever read about.

You'd never see the same person twice here, not unless they were like the guy that ran the local hot-dog stall – any of the vendors, clerks, or stores-men really. And once they knew you, they wouldn't be soon to forget. I swear, the Jim and Lisa that ran the corner-store deli had known me since before I was seven, running around in tutu's and dollar-store superhero tights.

Still, despite its flaws, I thought I was lucky to live in a place like this.

If I had to sum up, in a few words what Queens's like, I'd say it's just about the most diverse place in the world. People came from all corners of the planet, some rich, some poor – speaking their languages, eating their own kinds of foods, and living in their own customs and lifestyles, in close proximity to one another. No one minded the other. There wouldn't even be much fighting, other than the petty bouts of squabbling that picked up every now and then – like the 'fight' between which diner could make the spiciest plate of food, the large Mexican family that lived down the block, or the fancy Indian 'connoisseur' that had plans on opening his own restaurant downtown. They'd make a big deal out of who truly was the apex chef – sometimes calling over the whole neighbourhood, to see who'd score the most votes. It was _always_ a tie, so everyone ended up happy – including the tens of families that scored a free dinner.

The luckiest part of it all however, was that I just happened to be a green little spot, smack-dab in the centre of all the busy moving colors.

'Bella's Botanical Emporium', as far from cheesy as we could get it to go when naming it, was my mother's pride and joy. The older woman had, all her life, loved the buzz, the _air_ of life you could feel the second a plant was in the room – and now, Kudos to her, she got to spend every day in a room full of them. Yes indeed, Miss Isabella Prieto was the hardest working woman I knew. She'd come home bone-dead tired most nights, but always with the loveliest smile.

Being a florist's daughter could be a rough ride at times. Sometimes it felt like it had all the perks, I wouldn't even bother trying to be condescendingly humble about them. I loved the sweetness that came with it – loved the scents that stuck in the air no matter where I went off to. I particularly loved snagging pieces of lavender or rosemary to stick in my pockets every now and again, using the petals to make tea – only, of course, when I mastered the grace of a ninja in not letting mom catch me. The chores that came with the job didn't seem too bad in hindsight either, at least judging by all the other summer jobs kids got put up to over the holidays.

Even if I had to stand there for hours, snipping the thorns off roses, it always seemed worth it – because even a week's worth of time could go past, and I'd catch a wisp of what I came to smell as home. The only downside though, was that I never could get rid of the bags under my eyes, or the ache in my back from spending so many hours into the day hunched over a desk of assorted bouquets.

I figured it was worth it.

Who was I? The cryptid, out of its natural habitat? That one with her headphones in, her ears completely rapt to the dulcet tones of some _a-n-g-s-t-y_ rock band. That girl with torn bits of rose petals in her hair from the express round of Valentine's Day orders that had kept her up till she could watch dawn break? The young one that couldn't have been any older than fifteen, her hair like the dangly bits of fluff that grew on corn cobs for whatever reason.

Well, I was just another face, wasn't I? Nothing all that special.

I could watch the people, millions of nameless faces going places, pass by for hours and never see the same one again. I was the very same in the eyes of all those strangers – one of the masses.

Nothing about me stood out, nothing made me one-in-a-million. It was something I knew, but always fought with myself about.

Everyone had a purpose, I tried reminding myself, even if it belonged in this forever bustling city. I just needed to find mine.

 _Amalia Prieto._ My name was Amalia Prieto – but to all these strangers I wasn't anything other than a face that held eyes the very same shade of green as the stems I held in my arms. Eyes that had stayed longing, I imagined, despite shit circumstances.

They had since the day I watched, awe-struck, as the city had come crashing in around us - but was then saved by these heroes - _real, living superheroes_. It had been when I was just a tiny tot, back when news of 'The Avengers' just got people confused and thoughts of a green elf with Reindeer horns attacking the city seemed like a funny made-up story. The city was burning – people were falling over, left and right, but still – the red-haired agent had chosen to protect us.

It'd been the most exciting thing to ever happen to me, but even then, I knew it had been enough. I was a softie on the inside whether I liked it or not – a fact I made evident to most being that I indeed, did _not_ enjoy it. Often, I wished I could do more – _be_ more – but I knew what I was. _An ordinary little girl that liked flowers and sleeping, but could never get enough of either._

I must've been a cat in a past life.

I was walking along to familiar steps, down a crowded road – reoccurring, I'd taken them a billion times before.

This routine was game, set, and match. I'd reach up to 30 houses a day with these deliveries, around 15 if it was particularly slow. My last order for the day was for a batch of dozen cream-colored Petunias, surprisingly, for a lovely little old woman named Petunia Bradford.

 _The thought was adorable,_ I smiled at my musings. _Like she was having a cute little dinner for herself and thought of a clever way to make her day happier._

I looked onto the road in disdain after that thought. Thank cheese I didn't take the shop's delivery truck – it was an act of pure self-inflicted masochism, for anyone who even tried to get a car onto those streets. Hell, it would've taken me half a millennia to even get down the block on evenings like these.

Besides, it was nicer like this, I thought. The sky was a slight lavender, and I had a bunch of pretty-smelling flowers in my arms that I needed to hold gentle. That and the fact that I was almost ready for the best part of my day.

I was so distracted in fact, both with the emo music in my ears and the feelings of excitement over the future in my heart, that I didn't notice the sudden accumulation of a large crowd on the narrow little pavement. Men and women in penguin suits – these speed-walking, intimidating looking blue-collar workers had filled up the little route. I shuffled my shoulders, a little uneasy.

I had this sense sometimes – call it what you want, whether it be the 'weird-hippie-aura reading' stereotype people liked to give to sensitive people or whatever – but it was detectable sometimes, when everything just ever so slightly began to feel _wrong_.

Still, I tried not to let it show. I picked up her pace to match the strangers, a little frenzied from the nervous kick that had gathered in each step. All I knew was that I had to maintain each fast-paced step, even if my legs were aching by the end of it.

I stopped only when I was in front of a red light, a silent thankful prayer to the soul of Bob Ross - The gold standard of human kindness and all things good – as the mob came to a standstill behind me, all consecutively waiting for the glowing green that would get us going after that.

 _I was a moron,_ I decided easily, placing a free hand on my thumping heart. I needed to put a tap on the way I felt.

I often wondered why I was as painfully anti-social as I was now, noting back to when I was a kid and had a voice large enough to counter a stadium of screaming lunatics. I had been the loudest extrovert of my generation once, but it was easy to see how things change.

I felt like a sociopath because of it sometimes. The absolute vehement state my mind would go through when I had to interact with certain people, certain things. Crowds, teenagers – nothing was more stressful than walking past a group of kids my own age. My mind would just 'turn off' like some really wimpy C3P0. I didn't hate people but that's just how my stupid defense mechanisms worked. I knew, even now, I wouldn't have been able to help it. If someone were to come up to me, to just strike up normal chit-chat, talk about the weather or my flowers, I'd turn them down and away so quickly that I'm sure I could've earned a chorus of _'boo's'_ from the crowd around me.

Like a robot being controlled by a soft mushy thing.

But why would it matter? I was fine where I was, right? Sure there'd be the odd moment where I'd look into a crowd – see couples holding hands, siblings playing tag, friends guffawing over inside joke – times where I'd wish, _just a tiny bit._ But I didn't talk to many people – we'd both just end up hurt and annoyed with the other. I instead found comfort in the back room the shop, where I could work in peace. It was either there or with the many older folks and pets I got to hang around with on these deliveries – it was nicer, less vicious with them.

I stifled a groan. School would be starting soon and suddenly I'd have to become involved with the very thing that caused me mass panic. I would be back to being stuck – wanting to do so much, but just not feeling like I had what it took.

 _I'd have to grow up sooner or later_ , I thought, mind numbing down.

Despite my attempts to push aside worry, a keen confusion was starting to pick up once again. Something in the air was rubbing me the wrong way.

 _I was safe, I was good. Mrs. Bradford's house was literally right across the road,_ I tried reminding myself – knowing that even though I didn't let my emotions get out of check very often, I'd often be predisposed to unprecedented bouts of worry.

I tried to focus on the little red door across the way, the door to her client's house, but couldn't.

 _Why wouldn't that bad feeling go away?_

 _Something was wrong._

I flinched then, already on edge, at the start of an oddly out-of-place, _violent_ sound. My heart dropped at the feel of a large rough hand on my back after that. It happened so fast, too fast.

A guttural insult was spouted, a guy's voice, and then the feeling of losing my footing.

My shoes were slipping, knees striking and tearing against harsh gravel when I realized.

 _I'd been pushed._

 _Holy shit, I'd been pushed._

I tried to scramble, to move. _A second_ , just a second had passed _. I could still get up!_

I couldn't even tell how far into the road I'd been pushed when I heard it, felt the wind pick up.

The deafening honking of a car already going too fast.

Everything in me felt like it died before the car had even made impact. I felt a scream tear through my dry throat, though it sounded far-off and foreign to my ears. My eyes clamped shut. It was just a second, but I felt powerless.

 _Oh god, please let me live, this is such a lame-ass way to die._

A second past where I wondered whether or not I was dead.

My senses had completely blacked out, but I knew I was still conscious. It took an ache, a pause, before I felt my shaky hands fall away from over my head – an instinctual attempt to protect myself.

There _had_ been a sound still. _Something_ had crashed. I was just grateful it hadn't been into me.

" _Oh my god, a-are you okay?"_ A voice, a _kid's_ voice, rang past my ears, piercing my brain almost. I turned sharply, still stuck to the floor when I caught sight of it – _of him?_ A masked figure, with a hand positioned to the front of the red Neesan that almost killed me.

He was dressed in these weirdly put together pieces of clothing, red and blue articles from what you'd see at your everyday 'Target'. A red hoodie over a blue sleeved shirt – he was obviously going for a theme. _Superman, maybe?_ Still, even through the smoke, I couldn't see his face – realizing as it cleared that it was due to the sock-like red mask he wore, a pair of swimming goggles blocking out his eyes.

What stuck out as particularly odd was the hand. It looked like it was the point of impact, but that would've been crazy, right? To think he stopped it would've been insane – that truck would have flung the likes of this scrawny looking twig all the way to Coney Island.

I registered feeling sick and confused, like an old sputtering PC that was hanging on for bare life as it tried to turn back on. That and I briefly wondered if I were hallucinating – wondering, _had he gotten closer or was I going crazy?_

"Hey miss, here," the masked man- _boy_ was suddenly right in my face.

He grabbed me by the crook of my elbow, so apprehensively in fact that I wondered if he'd suddenly forgotten how to function. Still, with surprising strength, he managed to drag me up to standing level. "On a scale of one to ten – one being _'Every bone in my body's broken and I'm in agony!_ ' to ten being _'I feel like I could run an ultra-marathon right now'_ – are you at?"

I felt my eyebrows hit my hairline as I watched him for a long second. His voice was so light and squeaky I wondered if I'd accidently knee-d him in the process of getting up. _No way_ , I'd been coherent enough to remember that – I guessed it was just him, then.

Still I observed him with unrepressed curiosity, my eyebrow quirking as he ducked his head at that response, insecurely almost. _Was that him actually being shy?_ Then, straightening so my legs didn't feel like jelly and so that my brain reformed from its mushy state, I tried finding my voice through a sore throat.

" _Zero."_ I answered him finally, in a scratchy voice, dead-pan. Then, surprising the both of us, I used his hand to prop myself up – a calculated move, as I was able to indeed feel skin through the red fingerless gloves he adorned. That was enough to tell me that he was indeed human.

I didn't know why I was trying to impress this guy, my head was throbbing, my knees were a second away from failing – curiosity was just a strong instigator, I suppose. Well, that and almost dying.

"Okay great! _No_ , that's not that great," He backtracked, clearly not expecting me to answer that way. He gave me a look of confusion, something I barely made out through the mask. "No offense lady, but how are you so calm right now? You were _literally_ almost roadkill."

"I don't know," I brushed off my jeans, wincing at the red seeping through cut fabric. I shrugged the sight off, knowing I'd look like a wimp if I made a big deal out've it. "I saw my life flash before my eyes and half-way through I was just bored."

Despite the mask and my total inability to judge what kind of a person this guy was from all the pre-conceived notions that came with reading a face, I knew I'd hit the nail right on its head when I heard him snort.

Despite the fact I felt god-awful from this recent brush with death, making such a unique stranger amused was definitely enough to fill my with some pride.

"Also, _thank you_ ," I said hurriedly, not wanting to but remembering my mom raised me to be a gentle-woman. Also partially because I watched as people begun piling in around the site.

Somehow though, and creepily enough, all the men and women in suits that set me on edge before were nowhere to be seen. The street was as empty as it had been, save for a couple of youths.

It hadn't even been a minute of us talking, but faces that held the same intrigue as mine had already begun to crowd around. Still, I didn't let them deter me from thanking the superhuman that saved my life. I looked back at the boy who, amusingly, looked caught under my gaze. "You know, for not letting that car squash me?"

He flinched slightly, like his own thoughts were on a completely other plane of existence. He recovered by quickly waving his arms as though dismissing it. "It's cool, totally cool. Wouldn't have happened in the first place if I hadn't let that guy g0 – OH SNAP." _His voice actually jumped several octaves;_ limbs panicking as he suddenly looked to have remembered something of great importance.

I gave him a look, realising with some gratitude that he'd been after the guy that almost killed me by pushing me in the first place. "Catching bad guys? You do this for fun?"

"Nah, this is just my day job!" He continued flailing for a second, looking ready to dart off. "Look, I'm real sorry about you're flowers miss, but I need ta–"

"My flowers?" I asked, confused. Looking at my feet however, was enough to know exactly what he meant. Dozens and dozens of beautiful, broken peonies in varying shades of cream yellow decorated the road – an hour of work decorating the bouquets lost as they unraveled with each fastly passing car running them over. "My _fucking_ flowers!"

I was filled with a rage that could have paralleled a thousand suns. I sighed deeply, so deep in fact that the boy probably had to do a double-take to see how much air I could possibly fill my lungs with.

"Well go get him spandex." I said evenly, a lilt of encouragement in my tone. Then, allowing it, I let an absolutely terrifying smile break out onto my face as I followed the thought. _"I wanna make sure the jerk pays for these. A lifetime in jail will do nicely."_

The masked boy gulped, like a soldier that'd just been issued a command from a controlling officer. Still, he moved like he'd felt a sudden rush of excitement – An emotion I was quite privy to, in that moment. It was odd, so foreign and odd, but it felt like this stranger and I were on the same wavelength. A thought I couldn't place ever having felt before with someone I barely knew.

"Sure thing," He said, rushed, beginning to trot backwards – his goggled eyes still on me. "Stay safe and don't go falling into any more roads again, please?"

I made a sound in between a scoff and a sigh - _the nerve of this boy, blaming me for my trip_. "Oh shove it, you onesie-wearing–" I scrounged for a sarcastic comeback that still conveyed my gratitude, to depart the hero with some final words. That's when I watched, absolutely shocked, as the guy propelled himself into the air – _like he'd just begun to fly_. I was watching intently as he swung away, a pit in my stomach as I realized.

 _Did I seriously just meet who I thought I had?_ The guy they were calling 'The Spider-man'.

People were lucky to get him on video, the guy was that fast. He was known for swinging around on strings – and while it sounded a lot less unassuming and a lot cooler in theory, like some kind of superhuman acrobat, I decided it was a real fucking trip being one of the many 'damsel in distress' types he just happened to defend in the process.

I must've stood there for a whole minute longer before my eyes flittered back to the present. Thank god no one had gotten hurt, I sighed in relief – taking note of a man getting out the truck that almost ran me over. He was shouting a whole string of curses behind the hero that'd just left, looking mostly unscathed apart from his anger over the shattered hood of his car. A whole bunch of strangers had crowded around in the road, watching after the swinging speck of red in the distance – but I knew better than to stick around. I had crossed the road long before anyone got any ideas to interview the 'pretty young thing swooning over mysterious masked man', or so the newspaper articles would say. Always with the shitty clichés.

Well, I most definitely wasn't in the mood to be labeled a 'Lois Lane' – I wanted none of that attention. Hell, I didn't know the guy – but media sources wouldn't care much as long as they got a buck out've it – I'd seen them do the same to Tony Stark and that secretary of his, long before they ever broke the news of them dating.

 _Breathe._

It was a Friday night, the sun was getting real low, and I had an old woman I needed to apologize to for not getting her flowers to her.

 _Breathe._

I eyed the red door of Ms. Bradford's house in apprehension.

 _Breathe._

My gaze flittered to below the staircase leading up to her apartment, catching sight of an open space under the brick stairs. Stealing away into the crack, I felt my back hit the wall hard – a brief reprieve from wandering eyes.

 _I can't breathe. Oh my god, that was so fucking scary._

I crumpled to the floor, my hands trembling from how _real it had been_. The car was centimeters away from my face; I felt the wind of it in my hair – the dust and grime it kicked up, in my eyes. How did he even fit in between me and the thing?

 _That boy._ I didn't know who he was, and frankly, I couldn't care less. But he saved me, and he saved my mom from the heart-shattering news of having to come home and hear her baby was gone. No mom ever had to listen to that.

 _He didn't even realize,_ I choked on a sob that threatened its way out onto the sidewalk. He sounded just like a kid that didn't even realize how much I owed him for what he'd done.

Maybe I'd bake him a pie or a stack of muffins if I ever ran into him again. Leave a dozen flowers for him too – blue bellflowers and red camellias, the same color of his get-up, but also cause they represented 'thanks' – a totally useless tidbit of information in modern day America, that I'd picked up from years on the job.

I swallowed in the air around me, the signature sooty, smoky taste of it. I shook with relief but I think it was the good kind. The kind that made you realize how grateful you were to be alive.

I'd leave eventually, but for now, I'd happily sit on this dirty gravel floor – _grateful._

* * *

By the time I got home, night had fallen and enveloped the city in a blanket of darkness. I scurried down the path towards my house, the high-rise building chattering and singing with the voices and sounds of all the tenants living within. A quick stolen glance to the fifth floor revealed my own floor's windows, the lights on.

 _Shit, shit, shit, shit, not good._ I internalised my panic, my shoes slapping against the stone steps that led me to front door. The porch light was on, and the familiar yellow from behind frosted glass made the house feel warm and inviting – but I knew none of that was meant for me (me, aka, the little shit that had probably given the houses only other living human resident a heart attack because of how late it was).

A brand new flower pot to the right of the door was filled with pink and yellow chrysanthemums, but I had no time to stop and smell the roses. The metal of the doorknob was cool against my palm and I twisted it with ease, entering a well-lit living room.

Today was supposed to be a special night that I wasn't going to let anyone mess up, but I suppose it was too late for that now. The sun had already set, sinking into the dead of night, taking my heart and my interest with it.

I sighed. I didn't have time to think about mysterious gliding men in tights, or of lost afternoons. The whole way home, a single thought destroyed me – _What the hell would I tell_ _ **her?**_

The Beldam, the crone.

The kindest woman you'd ever meet, who just so happened to turn into a cruel, malicious, old duenna anytime you double-crossed her. She was Persephone incarnate in times where I skimped out on house rules – everyone always blamed Hades, but she'd be the one orchestrating all the punishments that made people scared of hell.

Should I just break out with the whole 'Hey mom, I almost died' sitch – earn a bit of sympathy points there – or did I play it off like I totally meant to be home absurdly late, symbolizing the fact that I was coming in to my own as a young, rebellious teen, ready to live a life away from the nest, and all that crap?

The very first step I took into the wooden-floored apartment just so happened to lead to the most ear-numbing creak known to man – somehow, already deciding my future for me.

" _Mija?"_

I heard the voice come from the other room in a saccharinely sweet tone, giving me a minor heart attack.

Ah, 'Hey mom, I almost died' route it is then.

I gave up my quiet approach and set the backpack I'd been carrying down next to the floor with a loud thump. Our apartment was what the standard person would call worse for wear. The pastel pink of the walls was beginning to peel, and the floorboards had lost their luster and would creak louder the joints of one of our regular customers. Still, there couldn't have been a place I would've felt more at home in – not if you paved every wall out of marble or gold, and most definitely not if you filled each mattress or pillow with goose feathers.

I savored that nice little thought until I was in the kitchen, face to face with the beautiful middle-aged woman I knew so well – sitting leisurely on one of the table chairs, who just happened to have been smiling, wide, but not warm in the slightest. I suppose it wasn't too much a mystery where I got it from.

Isabella Prieto was a tall woman with caramel-coffee colored skin, a single shade deeper than mine – her form taller and lither. Her hair, a jaggedly cut bob of black feathers, had adorned the same twists in them day in and day out – different colored strings and flowers embroidered into them each week. Her eyes, the same shade and shape as my own, could have easily slain an army of men with the sharp gaze she held in them – reminding me to brace for impact.

This was her when she was mad. My favorite game to navigate around.

" _Mi cielito_ ," She began cordially, the act not budging an inch. "Would you be so kind as to let me know why you're half an hour over your curfew?"

I imitated her perfect features, deciding to gain the upper hand and trick her up with a plot-twist.

"Why, mother dearest. I'll have you know – that pretty boy James, the one that lives down the block, why he came in today and set my heart a-flutter. He said he wanted to show me the world – who was I to refuse him'?" I ended, the 'southern-bell drawl' working well to prove my point – which would've sounded disastrous on her thicker Spanish accent. I flashed her a nervous smile then, watching with mounting fear as she narrowed her eyes.

"Ah? That's a cheery piece of news. Finally have a reason to start going out then." Like a sniper, she took aim – the curve of her red lips lifting as she roasted me. I could tell she was switching tactics when she adopted the look of a cheetah on the prowl. "This James then? What's his name, his family name, eh?"

I shuffled in the kitchen, pulling out a plate to get to the easy-baked pasta already waiting for me on the stove. I smiled like a ditz, looking at her loftily. "Oh you know... Dean?"

"Dean? James Dean?" She crossed her arms, the few beauty marks and moles on them prominent due to the hot humidity of the air outside.

"Yep," I nodded enthusiastically. "Side-note, this was all an allegory for a weird dream I had during a nap."

I always felt like myself in these little bouts of ours – a rejuvenation to having to go hours out in public where I didn't have to speak. If there was one person in this world I could fully be myself around – no guard, no need for cheap tricks, no nothing – it was my Mom.

How did this game of ours start? Why, my mum always was a bit too clever for anyone she'd ever lived with – I assumed it was natural that I'd follow in her footsteps. Sure, we treasured soft things – flowers, nice weather, warm tea – but where we were vulnerable, we had to be twice as ruthless in other facets. Still, none of that ever could break the ferocity in which we both valued family.

She laughed charmingly, her act finally breaking. She brought her legs to cross over themselves, breaking every ounce of formality. "Mija, I know you love the old movies that you watch. Ya lo sé. But I didn't know you were letting the men of your actual dreams affect you so dearly."

I rolled my eyes, a smile of my own lighting my lips. "Ok fine, you've caught me redhanded," I held up bear palms. "It was Ms. Bradford, ma. After I um- got the flowers to her, she pulled me in to have a cup of tea. Oh, you should have seen her mama, it was her birthday and all she wanted was someone to sit and talk to."

I winced internally. I hated lying to her, absolutely hated it – not that it was a complete lie. It actually had been Petunia's birthday, and yeah, she was really sad about the flowers I couldn't get her. But being an old English woman living by herself, I suppose she didn't mind too much and actually did want the company instead – it was the least I could do, seeing her upset. She'd helped me out with my knees too, sympathetic that I got hurt trying to get to her – though I did fib and say I was clumsy in dropping the flowers. Nothing about running men or spiders.

So I sat and sipped too-hot-tea, with a copper Charles Spaniel yawning every five seconds in my lap, listening to the wisened words of a woman in her seventies. It wasn't my worst use of a Friday night, to be honest – not in the slightest.

I didn't know who I was fooling with that though. I might've been a competent liar, despite the age – but my mother was a tough cookie, that saw through me better than anyone. Her eyes took on a sad approach, a warm shade of sap. "Baby, you know you can tell me whatever, right?"

I sighed. I didn't care if the game was still on and she'd just taken on the tactic of peppering me with sympathy and affection – it was working regardless.

It'd be so fricking easy to give up and tell her how scared I'd been, how scared I was still. A weight off my shoulders I suppose. But I also didn't want to put that on her – hell, I could just imagine how drop-dead tired she was now, she'd been the one at the shop all day, while I'd just been traipsing around the city.

Lies weren't as bad as people gave them credit for. They did something honesty couldn't always do – they ever so rarely saved us from heart-break.

I gave her sad eyes. "I know mama, I'm sorry. For being late and for not calling."

She returned the look, not quite believing – but accepting.

"Todo está perdonado." _All is forgiven._ She leaned forward, lightly grasping onto the side of my face as her lips pressed against my forehead. "You missed it by the way. What's the meaning of a 'ritual' if it's not done everyday, anyway?"

I groaned loudly, a queen of the dramatic arts as I buried my face into folded arms, abandoning my dinner. I looked back at her, pain-staken. "I know! I was so upset. And after the rain last night, can you imagine what it would've looked like?"

" _What 'what' would've looked like?"_

My spine seized up at the sound of a third voice.

 _A man's voice._

It was so abrupt in fact, that I actually thought the T.V, or the radio had somehow switched itself on. It even took a second where my brain registered how direly wrong I was. It was a second of pure gut feeling – fight or flight as I grabbed the closest thing to me – one of the sharp forks I'd been chopping bits of macaroni down with seconds ago.

I turned and aimed at the sound of where the voice came from, throwing before I even knew what.

Three things registered in tow. One, A figure was stood in the arched doorway behind me, clad in the most expensive suit I'd ever seen in these parts. Two, the fork I'd thrown moved evenly through the air – weird in a way where I somehow understood it couldn't and shouldn't have been moving like that – straight at the man's veiled face. Three _, a flash of blue._

A flash of blue and the whirring of machinery – like what you'd think as a canon coming to life.

A gloved metal hand had jumped into power, promptly thwacking away the quick projectile – swinging the opposite way and into the wall, bits of plaster falling off. I couldn't even fully understand the situation – what to do – until the man stepped out of the shadowed corridor.

" _Arg-_ Easy kid, _jeez!_ " He exclaimed, accent preppy-ish and overly too 'expensive' for what you'd normally hear around this part of town. He paused, but it looked more like 'for effect' than if he needed it to think. Grabbing a cheek, hand over extremely primped facial hair, he looked at me, stunned. " _Wow._ Pepper wouldn't have been all that happy with you for messing with this mug."

I gazed at him, wide-eyed and guilt-ridden. _I'd almost broken the face of a multi-billionaire_. "You're Tony S-"

"Stark, yeah I know," He ended for me, apparently impatient and a touch annoyed. "And you're a lot more hostile than it said on your report."

I frowned at that. _'Report'?_ – and _he_ was the one being impatient? I had every right to know why the third richest man in the world was currently in our little beat down place. I moved to speak, but stood wide-eyed as he actually 'shushed' me.

Taking off his sunglasses, I took note of the face up in person. It was a hell of a difference seeing one of your heroes in person, rather than on your pajamas, after all. He was a handsome dude, but the age was evident in his face – having grown wearier compared to the 'genius playboy philanthropist' he was known as in his younger years – the kind that I'd see in pictures and cut out of magazines, hoping I'd get to meet one day. The circles under his eyes made him look tired too, but with the gravitas of which he held himself, you'd never be able to tell.

Folding the shades into his suits low collar, he observed me with a veiled expression – more interested than he was scrutinizing. "So, tell me. What would've been so _amazing_ after the rain last night?"

I tried not to gape, I really did – but a seconds worth of it gave me time to collect the broken remnants of my thoughts from off the floor.

Surprisingly honest for me when it came to strangers, I answered easily – like it was the simplest thing in the world.

" _The Sunset._ Queens's got the most beautiful one in the world, at least I think," I said, dazed.

He watched me a second, before letting a corner lip quirk up in apparent amusement.

"You said you'd be here at eight," My mother stood up, having stayed watchful from her position at the table. Her eyes were sharp as knives, held up to the throat of the rich man.

I double-took a few looks between her and the genius, watching in shock as I connected the dots – she was speaking to him like they knew each other well, even if he looked far happier to see her than she did him.

"Well, what can I say Bella, I was eager to see who it was Nick's been talking to me about," Stark drawled charmingly, watching my mom with his full interest piqued. "I can't lie when I say I'm impressed. Big fan."

 _Impressed?_ I couldn't believe my ears. In fact, this all felt way too surreal to be happening – to me of all people. "Mom?" I asked, confused beyond belief. "Some answers would be really helpful in me not having a brain aneurysm right now."

The older woman gaze softened when her eyes hit mine, some wrinkles around her otherwise young face, smoothing out.

"Sorry baby, I didn't know he'd be here so early, I wanted to break it to you easily. Awfully rude of him to just let himself in, don't you think?" She answered, voice silken and accusatory as she went to eye Stark warily. It was such a trip, watching her act stand-offish to someone else – considering my mom was the opposite of me when it came to strangers. Everyone always thought she was a rose, equal parts sweet and beautiful – always her best self even when she hardly knew the person. A strength needed when it came to running a business, I suppose.

Stark winced at her words, his expression remorseful. " _Right_. Sorry about that." He shuffled – a cough caught in his throat. "Should've known better. Not a great plan on my part, sneaking up on two potentially dangerous women, fueled by emotion."

"Are you always this vague, sir?" I asked dryly, confused – moving back to my mother's side, "No offense, but I don't think you're spending your time all that wisely here, if you are." The man didn't move, his hands in his trouser pockets, his eyebrows quirked in intrigue. I gulped, a tad intimated – after all, I was just a 15 year old kid stood in front of one of the world's most powerful men. I tried again. "What do you want from us?"

"I'm here for you, kid. I'm hoping you're someone who's about to make my life incredibly interesting," he replied eventually, breaking the silence but filling the void with even more reason for me to be concerned. Slowly then, like a thousand eyes were on him and he was the host of a morning talk-show, he strolled ahead – making himself at home with a seat at our table, his hands folded in front of him.

"So, Amalia. When was the first time you realized you were weird?"

I felt the tension in my back drop in disappointment. "Am I supposed to be offended by that?"

He snorted, the dry amusement looking easy on his face. "Weird in a good way. In a very lovable Willy Wonka type'a way – Wilder not Depp, because obviously." Then, for the first time since I'd almost impaled him with a kitchen utensil, Tony Stark's face gave way to a shred of what looked like genuine concern. "This is… hard. Look, I'll admit that up front. A bit hard to break it to you kid, considering you don't seem to understand a damn of what I'm talking about?" He faltered, but with a look that was confident in his reasoning. His eyes slid over to the older woman by my side. "Isn't that right, _mom_?"

In response, my mother glared him down. She didn't take her eyes of him, even as she spoke. "You might want to sit down, mija."

I felt something in me give way at that. The tension in the room was pliable, so real – it felt like being tied to a railroad, having your eyes veiled but being able to hear everything. The chugging of a train, coming closer and closer, but you being handicapped – powerless to do anything.

I felt myself shake, feeling my age for what it was. "Mom you're scaring me."

She immediately crossed the space between us, taking my hands in hers as I felt my legs give way to sit on one of the dining table chairs."Don't be scared." She looked back at Stark who stood awkwardly. "You want to give us a second?"

The man looked perfectly happy with the suggestion. On his way out however, I watched out the corner of my eye as he faltered. "You'll be alright, Bells?"

Stone-faced, my mom sighed. "Yeah Tony."

Man, I really needed to make a list of all the things I needed to do some sleuthing to find out about – what the relationship was between Tony Stark and my mother, definitely being a hard priority on it.

"Baby?" The older woman garnered back my attention once Stark had left. She nestled down in front of me, her eyes glazed like she was about to delve into a story. "Remember how I've told you about where we're from?"

I nodded, as she continued – a shaky sigh telling me this hit her hard.

"My country. My town. It saw many wars. _Ceuta_ , where I had to grow up – where kids couldn't play in the street without being afraid of getting shot," She shuddered. "It wasn't a god place, babe. Gang leaders, drug cartels – they all made a mess. It was scary, living- no _surviving_ there. I didn't want that life for you."

She traced a pattern into my palms, her eyes full and passionate at the next thought. "We came here for you… So you could– so you could _live_."

I felt my own eyes well up. Course, it was hard, knowing the full extent some parents went to to support their kids – my mother in my case. I knew she was an immigrant, I knew she was a young mother, I knew she had to raise me on her own – _I knew how much I loved her for it._

What I didn't know was how it tied into the mess I was living now. How it has anything to do with why I felt like I'd suddenly been thrown into the life of someone else.

"What does this have to do with what Stark was saying?" I asked.

"I'm getting there," She replied, taking a seat like she was about to tell a story over burning embers and firewood.

"When I found out I was pregnant – with you of course – I was heartbroken." She scrunched her face, "Heartbroken that you'd have to live in a place as beat down and broken, in a life like mine. I was scared for us."

"So I worked. For the promise of a better life, as they say. I took three jobs, I worked my ass off for the first five months." She narrated. Then leaning in, she spoke conspiratorially, "I hid it all, all the money I made, in an old tin of _caldo de pollo_ cubes, no one'd think about looking there after all. Once I had enough, I planned on getting us tickets – for the two of us, anywhere in the world."

She looked excited and in a dream-state, like she was once again experiencing the feel of freedom she described. Her face fell as she continued. "But things… they didn't-" Her voice grew thick with emotion. "You were earlier than planned. Like god himself was dooming me, I went into labor a month too early."

"Then, when you were born – the hospital you were born in," Her eyes were hard with anger. "It was shit, to be quite frank."

"The employees got hopped up on their own drugs, the Doctors were untrained. But it was all we had. I'm sorry, I couldn't afford having you anywhere nicer."

A fat tear rolled down her tan cheeks, and then another. She looked so far from the powerful, sarcastic woman I came home everyday to. "You didn't make it baby. They got you out and you were so tiny. You weren't breathing. I held you in my arms for hours. Hours and hours."

I felt my heart skip at that, bemused beyond all coherent sense. I still held her hand, watching miserably as she wept – even if I couldn't so much as guess what it was she meant.

I sat patiently still, giving her the time she needed to continue.

"They didn't even notice when I'd left. I walked out of there, bloody and in my hospital gown, barefoot with you in my arms. I was so ruined, I wanted to-" She stopped herself that heart-wrenching thought, my eyes following the scene she played out. "They found me the next day. I'd fallen asleep honey, you in my arms. I don't even know how, but- somehow, as we slept, I had a dream. A dream where the grass we slept on, it came to wrap around you. Like it was rocking you. It breathed life into you, like you were a flower."

She breathed a single laugh, amazed at her own words. "You know, my own mama always raised me on legends. 'Never go into the forest alone Bella, sí, otherwise the Duende will get you.' Always some made up ghost story. But I couldn't have cared less then.'" She smiled at the thought, looking up. "The next morning, they found us alive. Me _and_ you. I thought it was a miracle, I still do. It's just now; I realize the reasons behind them go farther than any god I might've prayed to at the time."

Her lips fell, relaxed, content as she watched me process.

"Lying. _You're lying."_

It was the only thing that left me. _How stupid did she think I was?_

She looked unperturbed, like she'd expected the response. "Why would I lie?"

" _Because that's insane!"_ I cried, standing up and knocking the chair back, the outrage pouring out of me all at once. "Tony Stark, the Iron Man! Him and his friends! They're super-powered – but they're human! What you're talking about, it sounds too unreal – like you're saying it's magic. _There is no magic in this world."_

 _And it most certainly has nothing to do with ordinary me._

Almost like she was reading my thoughts, my mother smiled kindly. "Come now, Ama. Haven't you noticed yet? How the sunlight plays with your hair. How grass always seems reluctant to let you go when you touch it. How flower buds flourish at your hands. What about the rain?"

I looked at her like she was deluded. Still, I couldn't find it in me to not indulge her. "What about the rain?"

"When you get _sad_ it always seems to _rain_."

"Lots of people get _sad_ when it rains!" I exclaimed.

Her eyes were deep wells of ivy as she shook her head.

"It rains _because_ you're sad baby."

Words left me.

Instead, I just stared – dumbfounded as if she'd just produced a rhinoceros from her pocket. Open mouthed, my brain formulated no thoughts other than to register that I was shocked. I internally felt sparks in my brain, desperately trying to connect the dots and instead just causing a short circuit. I bet I looked like a pop-eyed toy from one of those claw machines at the fun fair.

I stopped to draw a sharp breath.

"You alright there, flower-child?" A familiar voice was cautious as it made its way back into my line of hearing. "You aren't going to try and murder me with any more silverware, are you?"

" _No."_ I said vaguely, like on auto-pilot. I struggled with myself, only for a second before my head found comfort in burying itself in my hands. "This is nuts. This is like if you watched all of 'The Force Awakens' without knowing anything about the original series – or if you suddenly turned into someone that actually _drinks milk for fun?_ I know the world is ending when that day comes."

A stressful, humorless smile worked its way past my features. I looked up fully at Stark - who, of course, was at least _trying_ to suppress a laugh. "What the hell could you want with me?" I wrung my hands at my sides. "What do you think I can even do?"

He sauntered into the room, pensive. "An associate of mine thinks it's linked to something deeper than what _'Iron-man and his friends'_ have. A.k.a, a lot of money and issues. And that yours goes farther than anything engineered by men. Kinda gives you the rights to tell Capsicle to suck it, when you meet him of course."

I shook my head slightly, understanding some, but missing on whatever the references he kept making were. He waved it off. "Let's just say it makes us invested in your future."

I eyed him suspiciously. "You keep saying 'us' or 'we' – who's we?"

"I'm investigating prospects; you can put it like that." He revealed, looking awfully like he didn't have any intentions on explaining the big picture here. "A team to go against some people I'm not too jazzed about right now. In fact, I've got someone else I'm looking into right now too. Another someone I'm intrigued in – haven't found him yet, still got my sources looking. I'm headed to MIT in a week actually. Getting them some funding – of which I'm _hoping_ , will draw the kid out."

"Yeah? Oh well that's swell," I started, a picture of perfection. I dropped the tone dryly. "But in case the face doesn't give it away, I'm not all that interested. I know what you used to be Stark. That you engineered weapons that went towards helping the bad guys _. I don't want anything to do with it!"_

I heaved a heavy breath, calming when he held up his hand – the one cladded in red and gold metal, a minute after only watching my tirade with a guarded veil. Though the sheen in his eyes might have been the leaking of guilt, still a bit too raw.

"Tell me what d'ya see?" He nodded at the arm.

I quirked a brow in confusion. "Um, it's your arm. The robot one."

"And how does it make you feel?" He talked slowly, a smidge too patronizing – like he was imitating his therapist.

"I don't know?" I breathed eventually. The words were true. Most kids would've 'ooh'-ed and 'ah'-ed, all over the high-tec machinery. I just looked at it, imagining all the people he might've shot down with it. How literally nothing could've stopped him from holding it up and aiming at either me or mom if we said something he didn't like. I knew he wouldn't have, but he could have.

I knew he was a good man, but he had made something I often wished human beings would just see caused nothing but violence.

The glove was something that represented death to me, no matter how I looked at it. Even if it was for a good cause.

"I never see myself in it, if that's what you're asking. I don't care who's side I'm fighting on, or for what war. I'd never kill." I looked at him, as honestly as I could – choking down a hiccup at the thought. It made me go soft and guilt-stricken, just imagining myself in that position.

The billionaire smiled widely.

"Then that's your MO. You've got heart kid, at least if you're anything like your mom. Just a whole lotta bark with no bite – You're not going to be anything like me," He said, reassuringly.

"No bite, eh?" My mom, who'd taken to a corner of the room to watch the scene unfold – suddenly said. I swear I could almost imagine her threatening him with a shoe in one hand and a broom in another – shocked when I looked over to find her playfully teasing him.

 _Oh, I just had to ask._

"Um, how do you two know each other again?" I piped up, despite the turmoil of the state I was already in – knowing I'd never forgive myself if I didn't ask.

"Tony was one of the first people I met when I brought you to the states, mija. Him and his boss, Nick Fury. After they heard of you – what your story was – they helped me set a life here. It was their job, I know, but I had to take the chance." My mom explained to me, a bit ticked off at the thought. "Despite them being annoyances now, I suppose I don't regret making it."

Then, like a flip had switched, her demeanor turned serious. She walked forward and gave Stark a hard look. "I don't want you hurting my daughter Tony. I heard what happened in Sokovia. It was all over the news. That boy that died on your watch – he couldn't have been much older than my Ama."

He gulped once, before straightening out.

You could tell, that under his appearance of always seeming in control - _this was something he wasn't joking about._

"Bella, I swear to you. Your family is my responsibility." He placed two hands on her shoulders. "I'd never do this unless I wasn't willing to risk my life for your kid."

She nodded once, surprisingly compliant – and that's when I sort of realized. They were close, but not in a suspicious way – it was more like watching two cousins that had grown up together interact. The man then backed up a bit, looking back to me.

"I'll keep in touch. I just hope, in the next few months that is – that you figure out where you lie on this line, squirt. You're one of us, it just matters whether or not you wanna be in the big leagues or not."

He walked back from the way he came, not looking like he expected any goodbyes. Once I heard the front door click behind him, I looked back to my mother – a small part of me dreading recent developments.

If meeting two renowned superheroes in the span of a few hours, and finding out I might have more in common with them than I ever could've thought, was any indication of what the future would turn out to look like – I honestly didn't know how where I stood in it.

Despite everything, all I wanted was a nap. After all, you know what they say – 'Never underestimate the power of inactivity in a crisis. Your problems will still be around when you wake up.'

Or maybe I was just making it up. _Meh._ Sounded reasonable enough.

* * *

 **A/N. Hi ya'll, welcome to the second/third(sorta?) idea for a fic I've put up on this site. This story will follow some of the other themes seen in my stories, mainly that it follows around an OC – tying her seemingly inconspicuous life into that of the main character in question. If you're coming in hot from another one of my stories (I've got a 'Doctor Who' one I'm very invested in) then I hope you trust my writing abilities enough to take this story on. If you're new and just rlly like Peter Parker, then welcome and I hope you enjoy the first chapter.**

 **Just a note, I absolutely** _ **do not**_ **think Peter Parker needs a lovey-dovey relationship within the marvel universe – which is why this lil' story is simply only inspired by my undying love for Tom Holland and his portrayal of the character.**

 **I just wanted to create a series of events that show what could've happen if he crossed ties with a nerd on the opposite end of the spectrum (since he's sciency – meeting a creative). This isn't to say I don't adore Lis, but that part of the story will be reduced (esp. cause it doesn't go anywhere). Clarification: NOT the parts where he has to choose between a normal life and being an avenger – because I feel that's crucial to his character. In fact, I want to expand further on that and get a create a harder premise for him to balance – it'll all be very fluffy and angsty, don't you worry.**

 **Some of the story will be taking from the progression of events within the movies (Mainly Civil War and Home-Coming) – whereas other events will be originally written (like in this chapter), to explore Peter's character (you can only watch the movies so many times).**

 **I really hope you guys enjoy the premise, as I'm mainly just writing this for fun (disclaimer: I have no ownership of the characters themselves, other than the original characters you might see).  
**

 **I might or might not write more on this story, depending on the feedback from you swanky readers. PLS DO REVIEW, as it helps me know what the people enjoy, thank u vry much.**

 **NOTE: This story begins by being set before Civil War (before Tony ever gives Peter his suit and he's just an enigma that no one knows much about). Hopefully, and unfortunately, I plan on having it progress up into Infinity War.**

 **Ok so some notes on the OC.**

 **I took special care in trying to make her contrast Peter in a way that might make an interesting series of events in the future. If you hadn't noticed, Amalia isn't perfect, at least definitely not to the extent that Lis sort of is – she's not even a very good person at times. She has the best intentions – she never wants people hurt – but lying is fine in her books. I thought this was a fun turnaround from Peter's 100% loyal, 1000% honest personality. Who knows? Maybe he'll be a good influence on her when the time comes.**

 **In another unconventional route that I hope didn't come across as too confusing and** _ **angsty**_ **, is that she's apparently anti-social – mostly with kids her age and people she doesn't know all that well. Course, none of that came out in this, as she only speaks to her mom who she's close with and out of shock to 'the Spiderman' (By the way, how was that first meeting? - - a bit cliché, I know, save the girl from a car yada yada. I'm planning parts of their relationship to half-ways embrace the cliché, and the other half to break them – so it makes for unpredictability and fun-ness I hope).**

 **Also, I get that the powers are a tad confusing right now – but that just puts you in the same position Amalia is, where she's still figuring it out. Although, I can tell you that they are plant-centric. Like Poison Ivy, but if she wasn't a villain – just a teenage girl who just wants to live simply. - I figured that including the back-story with Tony, Nick Fury, and her mom Isabella, would be a good turn of events – since she doesn't know her powers yet and can't catch herself on YouTube like Spidey did. - You'll also find that future events revolving around how our main characters meet and develop a relationship – has a lot more to do than random meetings that are totally based on coincidence.**

 **If you're from my 'Doctor Who' story, I totally hope the OC's aren't all that similar, especially due to the mother/daughter relationship, and my focus on multicultural diversity, both with the characters and in the lovely city of Queens. I hope I'm getting a view of the place alright too, as I'm Australian and have never ventured to the states. If any of you guys are from there, pls do review and let me know (it's just a real cool thing, seeing how stories connect people, regardless of where they live).**

 **ALSO, they are a Latino family from Spain, so I really hope none of the uses of Spanish is too inconvenient to read. The code-switching seemed realistic too, as Ama has lived most of her life in Queens, where her mother has lived in Spain for long.**

 **P.S. I hope you don't mind the line from MIB 2 (The, 'it rains because you're sad bit). For some reason, I suddenly remembered it – writing Ama and the reasons for her supposed 'weirdness'. Very random I know, lol.  
**

 **Ok that's enough rambling for now. Don't forget to review, as it's crucial to me to know how the readers like a story, and if there's anything you want me to change and/or improve on.**

 **See you in the next chapter! (Whenever that is)!**


	2. Chapter 2 - I've Always Liked Sunflowers

**The Flower Lady & Her Pest**

 **Chapter 2 – I've Always Liked Sunflowers**

* * *

 **Queens.**

 **January, 2011.**

* * *

 _Owning a flower shop allows you to see the crevices of the human condition_. At least, that's what she believed.

The flowers sent by proud mothers and fathers to their son or daughter at graduation, the bouquets sent between lovers on their anniversaries, and elaborate arrangements that were simply noted with a tag reading "thank you" or "thinking of you", and similarly, by that very same condition, they send flowers to try to right our wrongs. Flowers for those that are no longer with us. All of it was an excellent read on the human psyche – the behaviours that shaped all of them.

She didn't care if she was just as predictable.

She believed she never could see flowers too many times. Forever enveloped by the different scents. Each one was a delicate bloom, no matter if it was in a formal garden or a waste land. The petals were delicate works of art and their hues medicine for her soul. She knew she wasn't alone in her thinking. Many brought flowers into hospitals and graveyards, sent them to express our love; _we plant them in our yards though they bear no edible fruits._ Cities spend thousands replacing them along the streets and as soon as they brown more are brought in. Without the flowers it would only be concrete ice, and she nearly well thought the drop in temperature would freeze her heart.

There was something about their beauty she needed for her whole being, to be fully human. She wondered if they were all a bit like that.

Isabella Prieto had always had a passion for flowers, planted and nurtured from her own mother who always kept bushels of fresh columbine in a string along the windows. She'd go out and draw them sometimes, when the sunlight fell on them just right and the normal violence of _Ceuta's_ streets had retired for the day. Little stars of yellow and wisteria, her young brain would go about calling them.

Age had caught up to her eventually still, but she didn't exactly pale in the way she thought she would. The world was just as bright, the buds just as sweet.

She believed she was more involved in the grand scheme of it now. Not just a girl trying to get the colours right on paper – she was growing them from her own. Her shop, with some financial help from an eccentric playboy she had no time or interest for, had truly come into its own along the bustling streets of Queens.

A wide variety of shops lined the nearby streets: antique and art stalls, jewelry and accessory shops, luxury boutiques, souvenir kiosks and stores selling leather goods, all showcasing an array of the finest wares. Tourists flocked to them like fireflies to a lamp, enthusiasm accentuating their features. The silvery melody of the drawl of sightseers and the strong, distinct accents of the locals drifted through her ears as they ambled past. There were chimes of bells that tinkled incessantly as the people sauntered in and out of the stores, entranced by the merchandise.

She'd just been a stopping off point at first. A small attraction where the common business man would stop for a dozen red roses for Ms. Wifey every now and then. However, with the growth they'd gone through, the traction they'd gained, they were filled to the brim with customer day in and day out.

Bella had never felt safer, never as confident in her abilities of having actually made something from the ground up.

She'd never felt as able. To raise the one flower that made all the others seem unsaturated in comparison.

Her Amalia was coming up on Nine now.

The girl sat at the older woman's legs, behind the counter, observing and toying with the links of a indigo shaded larkspur like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Bella remembered the feeling – inspecting each petal and being amazed by the intricacies – the veins visible beneath what felt like coloured tissue.

Amalia was completely enthralled in her adorable fit of research, barely even looking up when her mama smiled at her, patting her mop of droopy yellow hair. Her hair was some of the strangest Bella had seen – having chalked it up to the possibility it had to do with her 'abilities'. The earlier in spring it was, the warmer her hair looked – like marigolds sat atop emerald coloured ponds of lake-weed. Then, when winter came, her freckles would look all the more dusty and her hair would fall long and flat – almost white like the snow itself.

It was like she was an extension of the earth that had saved her. A flower grown from the ground up – changing with every passing season.

The mother sighed. She'd been trying to keep Stark and Fury away, ruffling like an offended lioness whenever they showed an increased interest in what they'd refer to as 'the asset'. _No,_ she stopped that thought – Even with how much of a narcissistic asshole Tony could be, she knew his heart was in the right place. When they'd first moved over to the states and Ama had just been four, the billionaire stopped by for a visit one day – uncharacteristically good at making the little girl laugh as she kept trying, and failing, to tie little wildflowers into the man's gelled hair.

 _Fury on the other hand_ , she had a strong feeling in her gut that opposed the man's ever-present security over them. Amalia wasn't as asset – she was just a little girl. _A kid_. Bella hated that they made it sound like she was a weapon.

Of course she was grateful to the men, grateful to S.H.I.E.L.D and how they got her out of a world of hurt. She knew the only reason for it had been because her Ama was different compared to other kids. Still, Bella just hadn't known what she was signing herself up for.

She swore on her soul however, that if there was a day in which the observations – the harmless little check-ups from the eye-patched man himself – ever escalated into something dangerous. That's when they'd run.

She'd just finished with a customer, bristling at the dark place her mind had dropped into.

Watching and waiting as the old woman departed with a bouquet of perfectly boring Jasmines to fit along her French manicured nails and coiffed hair – promptly letting the vermillion green colored wood of the door fall shut on her way out – Bella stretched widely, satisfied with the popping of joints that soon followed. She reached down and once again toyed with her daughters long butterscotch hair, tugging playfully at the unruly ringlet that kept falling into her eyes.

"Remind me to break out the scissors when we get home," She cajoled playfully.

She watched, amused as the small child frowned in outrage – mouth parted to a wonderful display of at least three teeth that had fallen out recently.

" _But mama!_ I want m'hair to touch my feet. I wanna look like one of the Norse God's I read about at school!" The girl almost squealed, giggling as the older woman gathered her locks into a bun and motioned to chop them all off with her fingers. Bella knew what always happened whenever her baby girl laughed, but it always threw her off all the same – watching the nearby flower stems perk up, like they'd been given a shot of life. All the colors almost glowing into even more vivid versions of themselves.

She patted her once again, sighing in content. "Just a trim then, ok sweet pea?"

She moved to look out the large panes of glass for a view of the sky outside – the windows of course, being important fixtures for the plants, giving perfect way to all the sunlight they could ever need. There wasn't much sunlight to be found today however. Rainclouds littered the sky, eating up all the remaining light of the already ending evening.

"When can we go home, ma?" Amalia piped up, reading her mother's thoughts.

"It's almost five I suppose we could close up early, if we have any chance of dodging the rain, what'dya say?" She looked down at the younger girl as if she were a business consultant who's input was dire.

An enthusiastic couple of nods from the pipsqueak was enough to make up Bella's mind.

Before she even allowed herself a second to unravel the knot at the back of her apron however, the jingle of the front door was enough to almost make her falter – she needed to pause at that. Almost? Did she have to make sure her ears were alright and she wasn't just desensitized to the noise of that damn bell?

No, something just didn't feel right. Normally, when people came in, a sense of life usually accompanied them – regardless of what path of life they followed. If they were buying for their mothers, brothers, lovers, or any other, they all filled up a feeling in the shop.

No, it wasn't her, she realized unfortunately, as a pair of two strangers walked in. _Like ghosts,_ she shuddered. They came in, a woman and a boy much much younger, so lightly that it felt like they had no presence – like their thoughts were with the dead.

Bella knew that look well. It had been the same one she'd worn when her father passed, and then the second time when… she stopped. _This wasn't the place or the time for that._

Despite where her thoughts were, she knew these people were not in a good place.

All the laughter had drained from the room, and the florist stiltedly made her way back to the front of the counter – touching her daughters shoulder slightly, a silent indication that she still had her job to do and that the younger girl should take a seat – her eyes not able to completely meet those of the customers dressed in black.

"Hi. How can I help you both today?" Bella started, with the usual 'service-mode' speech she could probably recite in her sleep. She attempted a small smile at the boy, feeling her heart squeeze painfully as he tugged his gaze away from her face, down to the floor. He shoved his hands roughly into the deep pockets of his baggy, black hoodie. His eyes were blank, washed out like old paint.

She tried so hard not to let the hurt show on her face. That boy _had_ to have been the same age as her daughter, but she had never once _– not once –_ seen such a look of pure pain in her own family member's eyes. No kid should have to look that way, not ever.

"Y-yes, um-" The older woman that had come in with the boy, coughed. She was young too, and very pretty at that. Chocolate hair that reached her lower back, and with eyes to match. She didn't suit the gauntness in her face. Her eyes were hollow and crinkled despite the fact that she wasn't smiling – making it look like she usually did, but that the joy was no longer there. She shuffled in place, her gaze a bit skewed. "I'd like a dozen of those pink flowers you have out front. I'm s-sorry, I didn't catch what they were called-" She fumbled with her words.

"No, that's alright!" Bella was quick to defuse, a look of understanding on her face. She pointed then to the large bushel of pink peonies by the front of the door, the soft talcum-y pink of them illuminated by the setting sun. "Those ones over there?"

"Yes, those ones please." The woman replied shakily, scaring Bella because of her being skinny as a twig, worried that the rotating air in the store would've chilled straight through her.

Wasting no time Bella took to collecting a batch that was already inside, grabbing the ones most bloomed. "And how would you like those?" Bella asked along with a few other standard questions, surprised to hear that the woman wanted everything to be as simply done as possible.

"I've never seen you in here before, darling." Bella threw in as she was working on cleaning the stems, wrapping parchment paper around the roots. She knew it probably wasn't the best idea – interrupting a woman that looked so distracted. But she just couldn't help putting herself in the situation – knowing well that when you're in a position of endless dark thoughts, day in and day out, you'd give anything for a brief moment of reprieve.

The lady had taken to fixing up the hair of the boy at her side, jumping at Bella's voice, but listening as she continued. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were shy."

She attempted a smile, but Bella couldn't blame her for it turning more into a grimace. "Well, you'd be right. We'd walk past this place all the time, but there's always so many people." She tried a breathy laugh. She looked to the floor then. "He- _Ben_ , always said how pretty those ones were. Said his grandma used to grow them in pots all around his house, when he was a kid."

Bella looked at the shorter woman, intrigued. "Ben? Is that-" she paused, a stroke of realization. They were a pair of obviously distraught people, cladded in black. She didn't exactly think they were the sort to have been driving back from a visit to Coney Island, now were they? Bella jumped. "-Oh. _Oh,_ I'm so sorry for your loss."

The woman shook her head, looking embaressed.

"No, I'm sorry for bothering you – we were just headed to the cemetery for a visit and thought to get some flowers." She attempted, like she felt the need to justify herself. She looked up then, face falling like a beat pup. "It's getting late. You were just about to close weren't you?"

Bella vehemently shook her head. "No, it's no trouble in the slightest miss." She continued wrapping the floors at twice the usual speed. "I'll get those for you right n _o-_ _Ama!"_

Her heart dropped to her stomach as she caught sight of her daughter, adventurously wandering past the sad woman.

There she stood, in her little dress made from worn green cotton – several shades lighter than her eyes – having approached none other than the mysterious, upset little boy. Childlike curiosity, so completely pure, was all she wore as she observed him – a hard calculating look, like she was trying to solve some kind of equation. Her mother watched, flabbergasted, as she suddenly reached to her side – pulling up a slightly withered sunflower. Then, like it was the most normal thing in the world to do, she held it up to his face.

"This one matches your eyes, don't you think?" She spoke, her voice far too sure of itself.

Bella felt suddenly remorseful. It was her that gave them to the little one after all – flowers that had dried up, anything unsellable. The young mother gifted them to her because she knew it was tough for the little girl, having to sit in a shop all day when she wasn't at school – it's just that Bella couldn't always afford a baby-sitter, nor could she risk the chance of them finding out about Ama's gifts. Still, despite the fact that the flowers were long since dried up, it was like they came alive at the small girls touch.

She'd invented a small game of it too. Using the differing shades on all the customers that came in – finding which hue fit the likeness of each set of eyes. It was a real hoot on all the old little ladies that came in, calling her a perfectly charming little girl – what stumped Bella however, was that this had been the first time she had seen her use the sunflower. Her favorite flower.

"I like these kinds," Amalia continued, her voice sweet and lilting – the same way she'd adopted from her mother. "They grow in the sun y'know? You've got to keep them there otherwise they get sad. Once they grow all the way up here! That's when they can move around however they like." Ama reached as high as she could to illustrate, smiling widely. "They chase the sun."

Bella was quick to get over her moment of freezing - realizing with some embarrassment that this family probably wanted nothing to the eccentricities of her daughter. They were in mourning – and she'd learned how they most definitely just wanted to leave, if the older woman's reluctance to speak was any consolation.

Isabella almost jumped forward. " _Oh dear._ I'm terribly sorry! She doesn't-"

Her words froze in her mouth as the older woman watched, stunted as the scene carried out in a way, completely unexpected to her sense of probable outcomes. The boy, watching the young girl in front of him act so cavalierly, held that look of blankness for a long while.

Until, that is, when his look of shock broke into the tiniest crinkle of the lip.

He was actually smiling at this girl, half a head shorter than him, just like he'd found a stray kitten on the side of a road. His eyes, the same dark brown as the centre disk of the sunflower, were glowing in amusement. Then, like he suddenly realized what it was he was doing – he rubbed harshly at his nose, like he was rubbing the look off.

With his expression back to its dismal quality, he looked up at the girl. "What happens when they can't find the sun?"

Amalia paused, a curious tilt of the head like she didn't understand. "Well, that doesn't matter does it? As long as you keep them in the light, talk to them so they don' get lonely, and let them bloom healthy – then what does it matter? The sun might go away at night, but you can't keep it away forever."

She finished as the boys eyes grew wide once again, like he'd found more meaning out of the words than she'd meant, speaking them. Before he got a word in response, she thrusted the stemmed flower into the boys palm. "Here, you can have this one."

Then, like it had all been a job that the girl was successful in seeing completed – she left the boy with his eyes still on her – walking back to her mom with hopeful eyes that only could have said 'I did good, right?".

Bella shook her head in a pure spur of not knowing what to say. She looked to the woman that accompanied the boy, purely apologetic. "I'm real sorry about that. She's always been pretty outspoken."

The woman in tow looked twice as stunned, her eyes darting to the boy like he'd been replaced with a changeling or something. She choked on her words then.

"No, that's no- I'm just surprised." She tried, a laugh caught up in her throat. Then in a smaller voice, she looked down and continued the thought. "That's just- the first time I've seen Peter smile in weeks."

Bella had to pause at that. _Kids really were a species of their own – so much realer in the way they lived,_ she thought.

With a soft smile on her cheeks, she slowly held out the bouquet of peonies she'd arranged. "Here. Why don't you take these? On the house."

"No, I couldn't possibly-" The woman started, though Bella wasn't having none of it.

"Stop right there _bella dama_. Flowers are meant to be more than something you pay a pretty penny over." She started, using her 'mom-voice' on the woman that had to be the same age as her. Softly, she continued. "They can be more human than some humans in the way they live. They have a beginning, middle, and an end. I'm sure, if they could speak, this batch here would be grateful to spend that time with your Ben."

The woman's breath was shuddering. Still, her eyes were wells of gratitude.

"Thank you," She spoke the two words meaningfully. Then, nodding once at the lady behind the counter and other time at the little girl that had joined her mother, the brown-haired woman was heading towards the door. The boy, _Peter_ she'd called him, followed – but even Bella could've seen how poorly he tried to cover it up. His eyes were still on Ama, like there was intrigue there that Bella was sad to see wasted. They'd make cute friends, the two of them – and god knew Ama could've done with some friends. After all, believe it or not, she wasn't all that popular amongst the other kids she knew. 'Tree-hugger', 'Flower-freak', 'Plant-whisperer', who knew how many horrible variations there were that they taunted her with? Bella thought sadly. Her powers weren't all too easily exposed, but even just the reason that she knew hundreds of nifty plant facts that she'd picked up with a florist mother, was enough to rile the bullies into picking fun.

The boy however, just looked interested – curious eyes, so much more alive than when they'd entered, disappearing when the pair turned the block, away from the store.

Bella stared sadly after them.

Once the pair left, Bella turned to Ama. She wasn't angry, not even in the slightest – her daughter had done a mighty fine thing – but still, she crossed her arms and looked down at the smaller child, expectant for an answer.

Looking a picture of innocence, the girl giggled. Then, tugging at her mother's skirt like she had the funniest secret in the word, she spoke softly. "He looked like he had a frog in his mouth," She smiled like it was a sweet thought.

Bella felt her lips lift despite herself. _How would I ever stay upset with her? Especially when she's mastered a look like that?_ Bella sighed fondly. Then, in a fit of mischievousness that paralleled the young nine year old, Bella ducked down and tossed her daughter over her shoulder – her slightness working well for the older woman. In a fit of giggles and voiced objections from the tiny girl, Bella moved around the shop swiftly – tugging the door's sign to 'closed'.

"Well, I hope you're ready to get drenched, little lady," Isabella teased, observing as night had descended and the windows were smattered with a slight drizzle – the far-off growl of thunder telling her it wouldn't stay this light for long. She discarded her apron promptly, moving to the door with her purse and a daughter in check.

"We've got a storm to beat." She smiled a red-lipped, daring grin. "Your sister might just be on her way too. Poor baby. _Maybe we'll catch her on the way?"_

* * *

 **Queens.**

 **Present Day. 2016**

* * *

 _The boy was running._

 _Faster than the average human, he supposed. The increase of stamina couldn't have hurt either._

 _He didn't even know where they'd come from, but he was regretful all the same. Queens was relatively safe – and he'd have known from his time being a life-long resident. But he was also privy to the fact that the dark hid dangerous things. He'd been on his way back from his usual rounds - his part-time job, he liked calling it. That's why he couldn't exactly blame himself for running late – the day coming to an end and night falling before he even got a chance to change back into his usual street-wear. He'd been on his phone then – calling up May so she didn't have to worry over him being mugged in an alleyway – when in an ironic turn of events, he'd stumbled into something similar to the situation he'd been describing. He'd been rushing a string of apologies to the woman when he'd walked past a gang of three muscular, bearded dudes. He hadn't been thinking, but the second the hair on his back stood up – he knew he'd messed up._

 _He'd been 'working' for a whole two months now. Plenty of time to make enemies._

 _He wanted to shoot himself in the foot for being stupid about it too – using the same voice in both persona's to say whatever it was he needed to say. One of the men visibly must've connected the dots – but the young boy had already sensed the hostility in the air – walking five steps faster than he had been._

' _Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap', he repeated like a mantra in his mind. 'They didn't see my face right?'_

 _He took the chance to determine they didn't, bolting once he realized they'd begun a chase._

 _He didn't want to use any of the tricks he had up his sleeves, knowing he couldn't climb up any walls lest it confirmed what those thugs were already thinking. He quickly swiped a hand over his arm, inconspicuous enough to make them think he was checking a watch, but cursing when he found his web-shooters empty. There went his only get-away strategy._

 _Where could he run to? With his home 20 minutes away and the men behind him slowly catching up, where in Queens at midnight on a week-day would be open to take him?_

 _His prayers could've just been answered when he spotted some light amongst the corridor of closed shops._

 _He saw the faint glow of warm yellow – the only light source on the street. Feeling more like an insect than his alias normally let him; he made a beeline towards that glow, like a moth drawn to flame._

* * *

I sighed into the open space of the shop.

 _Of all the nights to forget my sketchbook._

I moved around the shop, exhausted from another day of deliveries. Ducking around every corner I saw, investigating every nook and cranny, looking under every shelf I could find – it was as pointless as playing hide-and-seek with a ghost. I'd been at this for twenty minutes but I wasn't getting any closer to finding the hunk of doodled-on paper.

I growled under my breath. I _could really use the distraction right now._

The air around me and mom had grown stilted – mostly from me, I'd admit. It was just that I was thrown – that she'd been lying to me, and for so long. I even had to reconsider my normal code of conduct – in which I'd always thought, _lying_ and _keeping secrets_ were two very separate things. But the pain I felt over this, it felt like she'd betrayed me in a way.

So apparently I had a little bit to me that made me 'different' – wasn't that just a whole box of rocks? _How swell._

I huffed.

Imagine my disappointment when I woke up the next morning and saw that the whole thing wasn't just a dream. Apparently, it wasn't a hoax either – as my eyes kept reminding me.

I first saw it when I threw back the thin curtains of my room, quite enjoying the way honey gold pillars of light tried tumbling their way in on their own, but knowing I needed them on full blast to warm up the chilly room. But my eyes didn't just gloss over the sight as they usually did.

" _Come now, Ama. Haven't you noticed yet? How the sunlight plays with your hair."_

She sounded so at ease with the thought when she'd said it, my mom. I, on the other hand, was terrified.

I had stood perfectly still in the light, instead of just bounding off like I always had done. _Always in a hurry._ This time however, I stood and watched in awe as I wasn't in control of my body anymore. My hair, like it somehow wasn't its usual tangled-to-all-hell self, actually lifted off my shoulders – swirling in the air, an inch off my shoulders. It tangled with the sun as if the light was an extended hand, reaching out to twirl inquisitive fingers around the straw colored strands.

I vaguely remember startling, jumping back into the shadowed confines of the room – asking the patches of light if they were looking to pick a fight. _Because I was._ Yes, I'd wrassle the sun if I had to – that's acutely how violated I felt.

Thoroughly disturbed, I remember leaving the house and darting to the shop, very nearly adorning my best vampire-inspired look to try and make myself as unappealing to the glowing ball of gas in the sky. In the act of saving face with actually paying customers however, I opted for just winging my way through darker alleyways – making it to the shop a whole half-hour later than I usually would.

The whole day I spent thinking, noticing odd little peculiarities I wondered why I'd never picked up before.

 _Why was this all happening to me?_ I thought bitterly. Just because mother-nature felt bad for me? What kind of circumstantial happenstance was that supposed to be?

My mom called it a miracle, but I called it fate playing Russian roulette over who lives and who dies – a fate that I, of all people, might not even deserve. _I mean, look at me_. I was sixteen next month, but I swear it was like I'd been possessed by the soul of a sour, sixty-something year old man. I was no Mother Teresa – the pope probably would've hated me too. I was no Charles Xavier with that fancy school of his', which I'd heard had set up somewhere in London – a school filled with weirdo's like me. Unlike Charlie-boy however… I didn't know what I was – and I didn't know if I wanted to find out.

Even if it was for the greater good and let's say – who knows? Maybe these powers grew like Stark said they might, and I could go about making food for the masses – plant culture and all – end world hunger and the whole shebang. I still would have wanted to have it ended – now. Sadly, I suppose that made me a despicably selfish creature.

I looked up above me then, from my position crouched on the floor.

A Chrysanthemum, droopier than it had been yesterday because of the dry weather, almost beckoned to me. Reaching up with a shaky hand, I almost cringed as it straightened out – the red of its petals flourishing and deepening to a sunset-red shade of scarlet. I pulled away, watching as it lost the color once again, suddenly reminded of what they used to say to me. ' _The freak. Her and her pet tree!', 'Why would she want to play with us? She's got her patch of grass!'_ They'd mock and jeer. It didn't bother me much then – in fact, I'd been the one that thought _they_ were weird, but _now_ –

 _I didn't want this._ I wanted a happy life – a normal life.

But how could you ever get half an inch's worth near that when you were a re-animated zombie with the spirit of mother-nature haunting you?

I could've stayed there, a puddle of insecurities on the wooden floor, but was before I was rudely thrown from my misery – by the sound of the door's twinkling bell.

A boy.

 _A boy? Are you sure your brains not just seeing what it wants you to?_

Ugh, I might've been off my rocker, but I hadn't gone completely insane yet. Yes, it _was_ a boy, panting like he'd just ran the multi-stage fitness test (bless his soul if he had). He'd crumpled behind the door he'd just shut – heaving, but trying to make himself look small – almost like he was hiding.

He couldn't have been all that much older than me as he pressed his back against the worn, green door. His hair was a mousy brown, messy and all sticky-uppy, as if he'd been clawing his hands through it. His eyes were frantic, but I couldn't see them all that well from my space on the floor.

His shirt stuck out though, with a graphic on the front that showed two tiles off the periodic table, animated. The character 'Na' had in speech marks 'That was sodium funny!" with another 'Ne' laughing 'I slapped my neon that one!"

 _Nerd._

I wanted to role my eyes into another plane of existence at the sight of the horrid tee, but stopped – feeling exposed when he panickedly started looking around – his eyes shifting gears of shock as the clashing with mine.

They were the color hazel – maybe even a smidge darker – like the baked soil we used to breathe life into all the flowers we grew here. I felt trapped to the spot under his gaze; even though he must've had the most disarming face I'd ever seen – like a mouse almost. They'd gone wider than before, those eyes – like his shock was multiplied, for some reason?

He looked at me weirdly, but strangely enough, not with unfamiliarity.

He floundered, his mouth opening and closing multiple of time as if no word in the English vernacular could cover what he wanted to say. His jaw snapped shut however, when the two of us apparently both heard the deep, guttural voices of grown men.

 _Wow, that's a lot of people out for a leisurely stroll – at this hour?_

The boy's eyes bulged and suddenly, he pointed to the lights. I didn't need anyone telling me twice, because I slid myself across the floor and to the front counter as fast as possible, my fingers finding the three light switches I promptly pressed down on to shut. The front of the shop, the foyer, the back room – all bulbs flashed once and trickled down into a state of pitch black.

The lights fell shut, but my heart was burning with anxiety. Surely this kid had been running from some dangerous people, and judging by his looks – the shirt in particular – he didn't exactly fit the physical quota for what it was to be a gangster.

 _Hadn't they already seen us?_ I was the only shop open now – where I hadn't even needed to be. I just needed to pick up my book – what should've been a two-minute job – before I was gone.

 _Was I seriously going to die alongside a stranger, just because I was stupid enough to sneak out for a stupid lump of bound paper!?_

My thoughts were shut down, my breath draining as – even across the darkness of the shop – the outside street-lamp illuminated the boy as he held a single finger in front of his mouth. The universally acclaimed symbol for 'please shut the hell up."

A second passed.

Then another.

A creak.

 _A voice._ Two voices.

A heavily accented speaker got close, close enough to where he sounded right outside the door. The shadow he cast into the store from his spot outside the door was giant – it was also the point where I vaguely registered my soul leaving my body. It was a strangely inhuman experience – like, as a response to my own heart beating like a humming-bird trapped in a steel cage, all the plants – every leaf, vine, and vagrant flower in the place –simultaneously held their breath. _Like magic._

" _Little punk got away."_

" _You should've ran harder John!"_ Another voice approached.

" _Screw off, Matteo."_ The first shot back. _"At least we know the asshole's a kid."_

" _Are ya even sure? You barely got a voice, plus – you were the only one who heard him'!"_

" _Keep your voice down!"_ He hushed viciously _. "Yes I'm sure. I'm telling you man, once I had him, I would've beaten him bloody for getting Gabriele sent to the big-house."_

I felt my eyebrows hit my scalp. This scrawny looking twig managed to do that?

" _I know man, I know."_ The second voice broke in again, disturbingly consoling. _"Well, at least you know it's a kid. We'll get our hands on him the next time we see him swinging around."_

A millennium seemed to have passed, but eventually, the two hulking figure disappeared from view of the windows.

So very anxious still, me and the kid sat in silence – for a good five minutes more or so. It was a terrifying feeling just waiting – like you were playing hide and seek with a homicidal gang of mobsters. Oh wait, that's actually what it was, wasn't it?

Once the terror had mostly drained, and my gut told me it was safe, I flicked apprehensively made to turn the lights back on.

The boy slumped over in relief as well, his head looking like it'd been spinning the whole time we'd been stuck in the dark.

I watched him apprehensively, narrowing my eyes when he made no moves to act.

"Don't you think it was kind of rude, ignoring them like that?" I started, breaking the silence.

 _Oh fantastic job – meet a stranger after a possible life-or-death scenario, and then respond like a twat._

Feeling odd addressing him for the first time, I was quick to follow. " _Sorry,_ I didn't mean that. You mind telling me who the hell you are? Or if you're just good just sitting there?"

His eyes slid up then, like he hadn't even remembered there was someone else there. It was like a zing passed through me as he gave me that knowing look again – weird since I could swear on my life I'd never seen him before.

"Why were you on the floor?" He spoke into the expanse of the shop. His voice hadn't been what I was expecting at all – weirdly altered, like he was trying to make it deeper than whatever the default was.

I felt an eyebrow quirk in confusion at his words still, prompting him to elaborate. His eyes darted away. "When I, um, sort-of broke in – _sorry about that_ – you were on the floor?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Can't a girl just do what she wants?"

He looked back, one of his oddly shaped brows rising in suspicion. "Oh, no, if your definition of a hobby is lying on cold shop floors at one in the morning, then go right ahead."

I almost scoffed at the nerve – paired with such an innocently amused tone at that.

"Don't sass me, stranger," I chided, standing up and leveling him with a glare. "It's none of your business what I'm doing _in my shop._ You however, made it my business of who _you_ are – once you tore through my door and threatened having who-ever the hell those two 'Al Capone-types' were, come in!"

He looked guilty, standing with his hands up in alarm – looking like it was instinctual of him, attempting to disarm the situation.

"Yeah, and like I said, I'm _really sorry_ about that. I was on my way home when they started chasing me, I don't know why." He tried, squeaking almost. I eyed him suspiciously – _not the best explanation._

Your everyday mugger wouldn't chase you down 10 blocks just for a wad of lunch money – if the way this kid looked was any indication. He took note of the look I gave him.

"I'm serious! I'm no one shady!" he stressed.

"That sounds an awful lot like something a potentially shady person would say," I went full bad-cop, giving him the stink-eye.

At his even farther gone look of panic, I dropped the act. I sighed deeply, rubbing at my eyes.

"Ok, sure. I'll bite, dude – just tell me what you're gonna do now – because I'm guessing it's still dangerous for you and whatever you did to tick those guys off."

"My place is just a few blocks away. I'll get back fine, but–" He hesitated. "-If, if it's cool with you of course, could I wait it out here? They might do rounds and circle back."

I eyed the mousy looking boy with an unplaceable look, that is, before a part of me caved. I didn't know what it was about him – about life in its entirety right now. Ever since mom broke the news yesterday, and ever since I left home today, ever since my book mysteriously vanished – everything's felt weird, skewed from the norm so completely.

 _It felt like I was being watched._

With Stark's words of 'a report' and his insistence on 'keeping in touch' – well I guess I just couldn't tell if I was the one being paranoid, or if the feelings of being kept on a radar were completely grounded. _Which is what made this all so funny –_ because, even in a shop where this one kid's eyes were a hundred percent on me – I just couldn't find a trace of anything suspicious to do with him, regardless of how intently my eyes analyzed him.

And I trusted my eyes better than any part of me, so that was really saying something.

I know it was silly – most times you'd never even scratch the surface of a person's character, thinking like that. But maybe it was the fact that I was tired, hurt by the only person I had that I could trust wholly. Maybe I was feeling weak, like a wilted flower that just wanted someone to pour some water down on me – without them having any ulterior motives of hoping to see blossoms grow.

Normally, I'd be all the way up for kicking him out – who knew? This was probably a rouse where him and the guys outside planned on robbing the flower shop clean, though what they'd do with so many flowers I had no idea.

I felt like a creep for even considering it. He was this cute, obviously scared-for-his-life _stranger,_ after all. But I knew that my biases would give way today. He'd caught me in a uncharacteristic state after all.

Moving forward, tiredly, I took a seat with my back pressed to the front of the counter, paralleling the boy who sat in the same position at the door.

" _Fine."_ I spoke, a single word of confirmation. "What's your name kid?"

Watching all the tension fall away from his face (jumping the gun if you asked me), I watched as he straightened out comfortably. A ridiculously sweet smile overtook his face then.

I had to shift my eyes.

 _Oh great. The geeky façade had been working for him, but I just had to see through it, hadn't I? This kid was a pretty-boy and a half, if I'd ever seen one._

"Peter. I'm Peter. _Parker,"_ He threw in at the end, sounding awfully too happy from his place on the floor, timid still. I found his eyes again, the kid– _Peter,_ looking all too at home next to the two full pots of lavender Hyacinths we kept by the door.

After a beat of me not responding, his expression shifted into a frown. "You good? You seem tired."

"Wow, rude," I said dryly, not missing a beat. I was just joking though, and made it known when I flashed him a small grin. "I'm not tired, I've just lost the will to live."

I watched as he snorted, the action taking an effect on his whole face, unlike on most people – with his nose crinkling up.

"Same. I might just pitch camp in this store, spend the rest of my days behind those rose bushes over there," He sighed through a smile as he replied all too quickly.

I just had to smile at that, giving him the first one I'd disclosed since we'd met. Ah, _Internet culture_ , a gracious thing that this boy seemed closely akin too.

I was about to speak when he continued, "Is that what you were doing on the floor? Just hoping you'd assimilate into the floorboards?"

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Haha, I'll have you know it wasn't anything as dramatic as that. Just me, having a minor breakdown over the fact I couldn't find something. A sketchbook to be precise."

"You sketch?" He tilted his head, intrigued. I noticed as he interrupted himself – an almost visible light-bulb appearing over his head. "And following that thought, I think you may have just expertly dodged introducing yourself, miss…?"

I shot him a sly look. "Well, to answer your first question; Yes, I do – but poorly. Secondly; I hadn't planned on obfuscating, but since it makes me feel all mysterious – like Arya Stark hiding her noble standing to go on debonair adventures – I think might just not tell you," I ended with a smile, having pronounced each syllable as fancily as I could.

"Oh? Well, as long as you're not an actual princess with a big-ass pet wolf – because then I'd think you'd be required by law to tell me. Would be the coolest thing I've seen in Queens so far." He grinned easily, his head falling back to rest against the door.

I ruffled at his laid-back demeanor.

"Shut up. Queens is all you need if you know where to look," I bit back, more protective of the borough than I'd realised. A thought suddenly struck. "Speaking of which – even though you look local, you might not know much about. Y'know, considering you seemed to have walked straight into the den of how many mobsters?"

"Like I _said_ , they jumped me. I can actually navigate pretty well, thank you very much," he bristled. Then, like he would try to gain the upper hand, he retaliated. "Did you not maybe think, that it might've not been all that safe for you out at this time either?"

"Please, you can't blame me," I rolled my eyes. To be honest, mom would probably have be guillotined for sneaking out so late, but I was a master-pro at escape measures – so, since I quite liked my head to stay on my shoulders, I was confident I wouldn't be seeing that outcome made real.

A funny little thought made me want to justify myself to this Peter guy.

"If you hadn't noticed, all the 'ruffians and thugs' have moved their business to deeper in the park reserves where no one can see them," I looked to him knowingly, a small part of me amazed that we'd seen such a massive change in the two or so months _it_ had been happening. "It's that superhero dude, Spiderman. Ever since he showed up, more and more people get caught. He practically gift-wraps them for the police."

I took note of Peter gulping, his head nodding vaguely, but his eyes falling to his hands.

I screwed up an eyebrow. "What? Not a fan or something?"

He looked up, suddenly alarmed – like a deer in headlights. He scoffed once, uncharacteristic for the polite dude I'd been talking to thus far. "So the fact that he shoots silly-strings out of his wrists and that he's flexible makes him a superhero? It's not- it doesn't look that worthwhile, what he does. Explains why he's not friends with those other guys – _the Avengers."_

I felt a striking electricity rush up my spine at that, because where the hell had that come from? _Jeez, this guy must really hate the spider-kid_ – a belief I wanted nothing to do with. To each his own, obviously, but Spidey _had_ saved my life. That was something I didn't take lightly.

I took a calculating breath. "Ok, well – if you asked me – I'm just glad we finally have someone to rep us. Who cares about saving the universe from giant, scary aliens all the time? We get nowhere if we don't fix ourselves up first. And that's what the Spider-dude does – he looks out for the little guy."

I felt quite content with that, knowing it sounded like a whole tower of assorted cheese, but not caring due to its validity. I felt my warm smile falter however, when I tore back from my thoughts to look back at Peter. He had the oddest look on, I could swear. He was staring at me so full on – his lips parted like I'd just told him he'd won the lottery, but like he still couldn't process it.

I almost chuckled at that look, leaning forward. "Hello? Ground control to Major Tom?"

He didn't respond, his expression unchanged – so naturally, I had to repress the urge to bound over and sharpie in a moustache for as long as his odd state remained. I was kidding – in fact, a trickle of actual worry tickled the back of my neck, prompting me to get up and scale the few steps separating us. His eyes had followed me the whole way as I crouched down in front of him and poked him in the shoulder.

"You okay, Parker?"

He shook his head minutely – breaking from the strange trance he'd fallen into. In fact, he quickly rubbed at his eyes in a way that made them look teary almost – bloodshot like he'd forgotten how to blink. He began to speak, but only ended up stumbling and muttering – a stock photo image of what it was to look embarrassed. His cheeks flushed pink, a trait I'd never actually seen in a boy prior. "No, yeah," he coughed, " _yes_. I am great. Totally, g-"

I laughed then, a loud bark that reverberated throughout the shop. It was just that I was so thoroughly surprised by this boy – so unlike anyone I'd met so far.

"Gosh dude, we don't have to talk about masked vigilante's if it trips you out like that – for whatever reason." I smiled at him, conspiratorially then. " _I swear I won't tell anyone about your major crush on Spider-man._ "

His look of 'wtf' had amplified, but still he sat up, seemingly recovering from his bout. Looking ready to play along, unsure, he attempted a nervous smile. "Promise?"

I returned the smile coyly, an idea flashing to mind.

"Yeah. And to make it official." I held out my hand, my pinky finger, to be exact. "Here. Pinky promises are the only legitimate foundation of secrecy I trust anyone too. You've got all the right to sue me if I break."

He sputtered, his laugh amused rather than mocking – thoroughly surprising me. I watched – an annoying, tiny shred of childish hope in my miser of a heart – when he just shrugged, reaching out a much larger palm. His pinky extended to where it wrapped around mine – each finger looking as though they were sculpted to go excavate a mountain, to keep a steady hold on a cliff-face.

There was something about it – a sort of zing, I don't know – but something about the whole image felt oddly _familiar?_ Like I'd held this hand before.

I suppose I just woke up with no verbal filter that day, because the next second; I was already asking. "Hey, this might sound strange and awfully like I'm hitting on you, so be wary – but…" _I swear to god woman, shut your mouth –_ _ **mission abort.**_ "I swear I've met you before?"

 _Oh my god. Why even bother going on after that?_ I might as well face it now – go on to live my life as hermit. I will retire to the outer regions of the Netherlands, only returning fifteen years after my descent into madness, with a beard that goes down to my toes.

 _Only then could I properly deal with the absolute crippling embarrassment of what my stupid little teenage brain had gone and thought up._

Not even allowing for the same thought of 'wow, what an awkward mess of a human' to enter the boy's mind, but still watching as his eyes widened in something akin to terror, I quickly went to nonchalantly add. "Well, have you been here before? To this shop?" _Smooth as jazz – good job me._

"Actually, I think I have," He responded, surprisingly casual. "Once. When I was- um ten, I think?"

 _Oh? Well this was an interesting turn of events._ I looked at him, willing to continue – when suddenly, he laughed, like he'd caught onto a theory that I was just using the premise of having met him before, to get him to reveal more about himself. While I'm sure that's what it looked like – I'll admit it was partially true.

He hesitated, moving into a cross-legged position as his gaze once again faltered to the earth. With one of his thumbs, he started tracing doodles into the lining of the wood paneling.

"Well, it wasn't that much of a good time, actually. Me and May – my aunt – well, we came in for some flowers," He looked up at me, just as I gave him a look that said 'really?' _– because what else would he have been doing here but getting flowers_. The look must've worked because I saw a dent in his tough, angsty demeanor – a little twitch of the lip. "Hey! I said it was long ago – and I've got a really crappy memory-" He paused. "Though there was one thing..."

I watched as he scrounged for a memory. "I bought- got a sunflower, I think?" He seemed just as confused, but his eyes did successfully drift towards where we kept the long stalks of sunflowers – something he couldn't possibly have seen clearly in the dark, but must've known from having been here before. "I'd never seen one in person before, so it surprised me – that they were taller than I was. But they did become my favorite, so there's that."

I rolled my eyes. _Get your own, pretty boy. Sunflowers were my favorite._

"Well, you're gonna have to fight me for them. They fit my aesthetic beautifully," I joked dryly, like the vain creature I was. Though, despite the quips, something about that little anecdote of his' made a spur of nostalgia known in my gut – despite the fact I never remembered seeing a 'Peter Parker' walk in through those doors.

Eh, it must've been over how cute the whole thing was. I mean – imagine. How many boys that you knew actually had an answer to 'what's your favorite flower?' – This kid did somehow, and it made me like him all the more.

Peter smiled at my response, a challenging look in his eye. "How does five o'clock tomorrow sound to you then, behind the 'Ralphs' next door?"

 _A round of fisticuffs in a parking lot, eh? I'd bench-press him easy._

I returned the smile, looking at him like he was the picture of innocence, distracted from my brains investigation into where I'd met him before.

"That's how I know you've never been in a fight before, Parker. Or at least you've never picked one. 'A', you don't pick a fight behind a family diner – _common sense_ – and 'B', you don't fight until after the suns down or you're in a place no one can see. And here I thought _I_ was supposed to be the _'sweet flower child'?"_ I motioned to the store around me, a saccharinely sickening look on my face.

"Well, what if it wasn't an invitation to fight?" He looked at me again, no longer tracing the scratchy wood. He looked quite young in the moment – and the ease in which he could do that made me envious.

"We could hang out, y-y'know, since I haven't met many kids over the break, and you're pretty– cool. _Pretty cool_."

I startled at his words – looking at him with large, concerned eyes.

 _Oh no. I had let this get carried away._

 _Oh no. When had we– when had_ _ **I**_ _dropped my guard?_

 _This was supposed to be a one-off thing where I briefly allowed a stranger shelter from a quick brush with something dangerous – because I'd hoped that if I was in his place, and the roles were reversed, that he'd help me out just the same. Like 'The Breakfast Club', except only with two people and in a florists' rather than at school – where you only assume at the end that none of those kids'll ever meet up again. A brief display of friendship between two perfect acquaintances, that's all this should've been – Hell, he didn't even know my name! And here he was, asking me to hang out sometime?_

This kid was a cinnamon bun. He really was. But compared to him, I was like a human espresso. Short and bitter, with a dark soul. That analogy probably sounded cooler in my head, but the symbolism had a point.

 _He really shouldn't have wanted anything to do with tiresome me._

"I don't think those guys are making any more rounds," I broke the tense silence I had fallen into with a quiet voice, watching his face fall ever so slightly at the words.

I had to ignore the clenching of my heart. He was a good kid, and we got along well – I'd admit that it was uncommon that anyone ever did with me. But everything about him was outspoken, loud and vibrant – nothing I knew how to be. I shuddered when I thought of him with dozens of friends, a gang of closely knit friends. _He was nice enough to have those many friends._

In a shop with no one else around, sure I would've been enough for a nice chat – but in front of people he already had? _I wouldn't compare._

 _I guess he really did deserve the sunflowers more than I did. Everything about them was golden honey – summery. He sort of reminded me of them. Must've been the eyes._

"No, I guess not," He responded, breaking me from my horrid thoughts. He stood up then, a cheery, thin-lipped smile on his face. "Well, it was nice meeting you still."

"It definitely was, Parker," I smiled despite myself. Another stranger to add back to the memory vault. Queens was a big place, and the second he walked out, he'd go back to just being a nameless face.

To stop the traces of sadness I felt seeping into my smile, I held out a hand. "Put it there."

He reached out to shake my hand, his fingers wrapping over mine, his palm almost dwarfing my own. I was about to pull back when a tricky thought poked back, already leaving my mouth. "Weird. Have you been playing with glue or something?"

His hands were distinctively sticky – but not even that. It was like he had a thousand tiny pieces of dead skin sticking off his hand, until they were almost prickly. _Man, he must really hate moisturizer._

He pulled his hand back as soon as I'd said that, his eyes turning into globes like he'd been caught out at something. A dash of apprehension clouded his face, but I immediately held my hands out, a universal sign of surrender.

"Hey, it's ok. Look-"I dug into my pocket and pulled out a small thing of liquid glue. We normally used them to hold the bouquets in place, but more often than not, I'd find myself snagging one or two. "See, it's not that uncommon. I normally put it over a space on my palm and peel it off. It's therapeutic."

Saying that out loud might not've been the best idea – since it did make me sound a touch 'cuckoo-crazy'. But I was a strong mildly-dependent teenagy teenager who had to be confident in my life choices – so I held my own.

Peter laughed, nervous at first – but then disbelieving. _Maybe he thougt me a moron,_ I wondered fancily.

"Wow. Oh my gosh, I thought I was the only one," He replied, amused but completely stilted – as if he were trying to mimic a robot. "I'm just kidding. I'm glad – y'know, that someone else does the same. Too."

"Ok weirdo," I gave him a funny look, not at all meaning the words of course. In the small time I'd known him, this boy struck me as a lot of things – 'Weirdo' wasn't one of them.

"Alrighty then," He shrugged, standing to his full height in front of me, his hands going to his pockets. I followed the action, the lavender-colored pajama pants I'd snuck out in having piled over my feet due to the excess length of them. I grinned funnily when I found that he was much shorter than I reckoned he'd be, coming to half a head taller than me – but still being small in whatever-the-hell societies standards were. I couldn't really find it in me to mind.

"It was nice meeting you, mysterious flower lady who I'm still 55 percent certain is a ghost I just happened to run into during a haunting."

I laughed, quickly catching myself before the flowers around us seemed to react in that trippy way of theirs.

I went the opposite extreme of his humble, 'hands-in-pocket' pose – actually curtseying like a medieval maiden.

"And it was nice to meet you, Peter Parker – interesting science nerd with an Aunt named May, a shit memory, and a suspicious relationship with the neighborhood mafia," I smiled back, an uncommon warmth to the action. I leaned in then to whisper conspiratorially. " _I'm onto you Tessio."_

He laughed and the sound, despite being so akin to his speaking voice, was charming and boyish. He held the look for just a second longer, his head shaking like it was odd to be leaving – like he would've wanted to say more.

He made for the door, ready to just walk out before his expression scrunched. He turned back, with a shift in his face – he seemed almost hopeful.

"I'll see you around?" He tried.

I nodded once, a jilted smile. I watched his expression bounce a shade happier – and like that, he was gone.

"Goodbye Peter Parker," I said into the emptiness – a bitter cut of sadness seeping back into the quiet tone of my voice. Goodbyes were often very different from what they stood for. Where 'I'll see you around' made me think of seeing him again – I realized that 'goodbye' was something that gave no trace of ever meeting the other again.

 _Another face, re-joining the ever-present, ever-changing crowd of faces. Once again becoming nameless._

* * *

 **A/N: Hi guys! I'm so happy that some of you really seem to like this – so that's a goddamn relief.**

 **\+ Just a note to all my readers that have come from my 'Doctor Who' story before I get into notes about this chapter – it is not abandoned in the slightest just because I've decided to dabble in this lil project. I'm just doing what I find fun, so please hold on to your horses in the meantime.**

 **Onto this chapter:**

 **I hope that none of you mind the shifts in first person and third person (To make it clear – First person will always be though Amalia's perspective – I will not change this unless it is explicitly stated. Third person will follow either flashbacks or Peter's perspective). I thought that this was the best way to write since I wanted to get that closeness of emotion you get with first person, while still managing the scope that third person gives you – so I apologize if it's a headache.**

 **I hope the acts of dialogue shown here seem in character (I'm really hoping). To cement this, the next chapter will pick up on Peter's perspective after he leaves, as he recounts his feelings about the 'mysterious flower lady'.**

 **Imma be carrying tradition over from my other fanfic into this one – where I read and address all the reviews I can (thank you so much for leaving them – if you do). Be known, I will reply to all of them, even if the word limit goes to push 15,000 (because I rlly appreciate it with every fiber of my being), so don't feel awkward about leaving little notes - even if it's just to fangirl over the characters, because I'm seriously on the same boat and I feel like we'd relate.**

EiraFae – Oh you snazzy creature, it's great to see you on this story! I freaked out when I saw you too, because of how much I appreciate your readership – and it's so hilarious that we both seem to have the exact same taste in characters. I'm reall glad you like the dialogue (I hope this chap didn't just shatter that impression) – since I'm not at all experienced with writing more teen-speak, like how Peter talks. I hope to see more of you around these parts.

Akagami hime chan – Thanks for your review princess! (at least that's what I'm hoping 'hime' means and I'm not vastly overshooting on my very little amount of knowledge on the Japanese culture). Ugh, Peter is a ridiculously awkward bean – which makes him so goddarn likable. I hope to get more of that in future interactions, and that the one in this chapter is good enough.

It'sJustMeCami – Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, thank you for such a beautiful review! I was saving this one for last because of how nice it was. I mean, just imagine receiving something so in depth and wonderfully thought out for your first review on a story. I was so blown away by your comment, so thank you! It's glad to see people from my other story as well, but it's funny considering how you found out im the same author (I usually love the 'aha' moment when I find writers like that).

I'm glad that you're okay with some of the elements in this story and in their relationship being cliché – because I feel, 'oh they're kids so of course they'll be cliche' but also that since they're being thrown into adult situations of life-and-death that come with powers, those clichés could be twisted to where you actually wish it would go back to fluffly cute stuff (I suppose that's the angsty bit).

I'm also glad, but also worried, that you like Amalia – since I've kinda been juggling her character. I know I really don't want to make her a cookie-cutter type that matches her powers. Since she's all flowery, I think it's cool for her to grow into that vulnerable warmth that fits her powers, later on – but for now, especially considering her being bullied in the past and her desire to stay normal, that she feels a tad bitter. Idk, I hope for character growth, but I'm not sure how it'll go.

Still, thanks so much for the lovely words – I rejoice in fangirl ramblings, trust me – and I hope you review again if you feel like it :)

 **There, now then – I hope you guys have had a merry time along this adventure. Don't forget to leave a review, follow, or favorite – always helps. See you around!**


	3. Chapter 3 - Dear Flower Lady

**The Flower Lady & Her Pest**

 **Chapter 3 – Dear Flower Lady.**

* * *

 _Spiders in my head, spiders in my mind.  
You may take my eyes, but baby I'm not blind.  
It all works out in time.  
You know I'm gonna be alright.  
You may take my eyes, but baby I'm not blind._

 _Cage the Elephant, Spiderhead._

* * *

Peter skipped along the sidewalk, careful not to slip past the shadows that were concealing him.

He smiled for no one but himself and the dark – his mind absolutely refusing to acknowledge the straight up fact that May would ground him for a whole month when he got home – completely unconcerned that two buff weapons-dealers could still be trailing him too.

 _Who would've thought I'd be seeing her again. Pretty flower lady from the other day._

Peter recalled when his alter ego had saved her just a day before.

Her eyes were so easy to spot in a crowd – a shade of green he'd never seen before, too crystalline to not have immediately noticed when he met them again, across her shops floor. It was the smell too – she had smelt _too_ _strongly_ of flowers, as if she'd been rolling around in a meadow all day. It had been harsh on his senses before, since he did digest things at a rate more intense than the average Joe – but the sweet smell eventually settled to a point in which, even when 3 blocks away, he still felt like he could sense wisps of it.

Going back to _how_ he'd met the girl however – Peter recognized it was something that never should've and never would've happened. It wouldn't have if he hadn't pressured the crook into fleeing into the bustling street. The man he'd chased after was some rando too – dressed like your average cubicle-working dude, with a mustache that could've rivaled Ron Swanson himself. It was so out of the ordinary, weird even, that this smartly dressed man would've snatched a woman's purse and made a break for it – when he looked like he could've afforded to buy the thing off her.

 _Odd._

 _Probably just a coincidence though. I'm no Sherly Holmes, so I'm definitely just talking out my ass when it comes to the art of observation –_ he so eloquently thought.

Peter was glad he'd been there though – mainly because what he'd done suddenly seemed so much heavier in comparison to the usual.

Give old women directions across the streets, saves cats out've trees, break up the occasional drug-deal. It was all standard and easy, but he registered that it _could_ get scary sometimes – _he knew that_. Those thugs were proof enough. But nothing had ever compared to the second he saw that girl go falling into the street – because of him.

 _He had done that. It was his fault._

Nothing had ever hit quite as hard as the fact that this had been the first time. The first time where the Spider-man– where _Peter Parker_ , was thrown the circumstance of juggling life-and-death. Of being the one responsible.

 _Uncle Ben'd be disappointed,_ Peter thought glumly.

He imagined his departed Uncle shifting in his grave at the thought of him failing to be a bigger man.

Benjamin "Ben" Parker had passed during the first peaks of warmth, in the spring of 2011 – back when Peter had just been a power-less little boy. Even then though, like he'd seen into the future, the older man had a thing about teaching Pete all about responsibility. Ever since Peter's parents died – Ben's brother and his wife – he always emphasized on seeing Pete grow up to be someone who could take care of himself.

To be someone who'd go on to take care of other people, just as the young couple had done when they took in the small orphan who showed up at their door.

Peter thought, when he got these powers, that he'd finally found a way to do that. But he was finding it to be quite the challenge.

How often he wished he could just tell someone. In fact, he often found himself wishing he could scream it from the rooftops – nothing as sophisticated as announcing it at a press-conference in front of a gaggle of reporters, like a certain Stark, of course – but it would do the trick. Still, he knew that there was a galaxy's worth of difference between him and the multi-billionaire. Peter knew he couldn't protect himself from things like the press, and he definitely didn't want May or Ned – though his best friend would definitely enjoy the attention – to go through the ordeal. Plus, with regional's coming up next semester, he really needed to focus on the mundane – homework _, for example,_ would be tough to finish if Peter had people ambushing him left-and-right from trees and snaking their ways through his window to get a snap of what he looked like. Or whatever it was that happened when a 'super-powered individual' made big news.

 _God._ He ducked his head, feeling like a complete narcissist.

He wasn't even that big – Spiderman was just a story. Most people on YouTube thought it was shopped anyway. But there he was, already having let his mind slip into the wonderful hypothetical's of 'what if?' – He was nowhere near the _real_ super-powered hero's of the big city. The Avengers were gods and warriors, spies and missionaries – he felt like a cheap dollar-store dupe in comparison.

He just guessed it had always been something that made him less – that is until, he heard what that girl had said.

 _'Who cares about saving the universe from giant, scary aliens all the time? We get nowhere if we don't fix ourselves up first. And that's what the Spider-dude does – he looks out for the little guy.'_

That's what she'd said – the nameless blonde – and he swore, he had never wished more to confess than in that moment.

To tell another person who he was. The secret hadn't seemed so important in that moment.

He'd heard his cohort speak about the Spider-man before, sure, a few passing remarks. Theories and conspiracies about him being Black Widow's long-lost son – because of course, _arachnid-power_. People wondered whether he was a hoax, since not many had actually seen him – a touch too quick for their unsuspecting cameras. There had also been girls, describing his hidden face as close to what they envisioned the love-child of Leo Decaprio and Ryan Gosling to look like – which to Peter was both intimidating, and absolutely heart-breaking, because "n- _not exactly, but thanks for the high expectations. I'm sorry to break the illusion ladies."_ Or so he wanted to say sometimes. He remembered the last day of the previous term, when he'd overheard Lis and a couple of her friends say those exact things, playfully in her little circle of people. Peter didn't know Lis all that well, other than acknowledging her when she'd joined their academic decathlon team a few weeks before the holidays – but he was completely in the know about her being one of the most popular girls in school. That and the fact that she was insanely pretty. The fact that she was insanely pretty, _and_ the fact that she thought _he_ looked like some kind of fricking Adonis under the mask.

The flower lady hadn't cared about any of that, though.

 _She actually thought I was neat – that I was important. How often did that happen?_

 _It never had, to Peter's knowledge._

Thus, the cause of the almost ear-splitting grin Peter had adorned through his trek home. Even if the closest people he had – Ned and May – if they didn't know about his secret yet, the girls words made Peter hope they'd see it the same way she did, if they ever found out. And that, in and of itself, had been a whole world's worth of consolation to the young hero.

His thoughts had kept him plenty preoccupied, because – before he knew it – he was face to face with the crummy apartment complex he had practically grown up in.

 _Stealth-mode activate._

Peter mused about sneakily – removing his shoes and socks, slipping them into his backpack so that the soles of his feet had better access to scale up the side of the building – a path straight to his room to evade the fury of his guardian.

His palms, naturally adhesive, scaled the wall with ease – his body almost weightless. She had noticed that too – something that Peter surprisingly hadn't yet encountered since he'd been bit by that radioactive spider however-long-ago. Back when photos of him were unmistakable due to the sheer glint of braces and glasses – problems that were magically solved with his improved DNA.

It was a long story he didn't like thinking of, how he got to where he was now. But still, he chuckled.

 _Looks like I'm gonna have to carry some glue on me from here on in. Just so I don't look like some creepy, scaly-handed creep, who actually still went around shaking hands in the 21_ _st_ _century (like a creep) instead of just waving or doing one of those cool, bro-y nods._

Halfway up, Peter breathed in the city smog – thriving from being up at such a height. He supposed he'd always been somewhat of a show-boat when it came to the reckless. He'd always be moving, now and back when he was younger – doing something with his hands, making stuff. And at times where he didn't have access to any Lego's to build with, or even the occasional heap of junk metal he'd go looking for in the oddest places – his feet would run wild. He remembered once, almost flying off the top of the brick paneling on the roof, while May was hanging some laundry on the wire. This was before he had his powers, so you can imagine how poorly it would've gone if his aunt hadn't grabbed him by the collar, the second he overdid himself with one of the many self-challenging races.

He guessed he just didn't know how to have any chill – which could really suck sometimes.

But it was at times like this – where the wind, cold and bitey and ruffling up his curls, would fill his lungs so completely, he felt like it was where he belonged. Swinging through the sky and feeling the motions, like a rollercoaster where he was the one operating it – it was what he loved.

Then, like a bucket of hot water was doused on him, a quick burst of warm air tickled his nose. Quite suddenly – he knew he was home.

With tricky fingers, he ever-so-silently pried open the window, eyes scanning the empty confines of his room. Well, it wasn't exactly bare – he had a heap of dirty clothes adorning his carpeted floor, in typical high-school boy fashion. The second his feet made contact with the floor, curling into soft fabric of the ground, he kept a keen ear for any noises.

A completely quiet apartment. No light shining from the space below the door.

 _The coast seemed clear._

Speedy-quick, he disposed of his street clothes, his 'uniform' going back to hang in the tiny attic space above him – as he kept making notes to himself of things he needed to do. His current top priority was to snag some more ingredients from Ms. Warren's chem class, the second school was back up and running – to make more web-fluid, since he had ran low over the break and he didn't have anywhere else to get that stuff from.

He was so up in his head about things that he didn't pay any mind to the outside world – or to the rapid footsteps approaching his door.

The panel of wood serving as Peter's only way to privacy (and living a double-life), suddenly gave way to a middle-aged woman, dressed in her pajamas, looking absolutely livid.

Peter jolted from his tasks, shoving the web-shooters he'd been fiddling with into his pockets, plastering on a smile that didn't even try to hide the fact that he was scared for his life.

"Hey May! You're awake," He said matter-of-factly, like she somehow didn't realize.

Eyes glowing dangerously, she gave him a look, halfways confused and furious.

 _"_ _When did you get back?"_

Peter practically squeaked, before of course, realizing it wasn't all that manly to squeak – clearing his throat with what he believed sounded like a masculine grunt.

"Oh, I just… snuck in, you know? I didn't wanna wake you."

"Ah. Well, in that case-" She replied blankly, eyes trained on his face. "You wanna tell me why – just a small explanation really – why it is I've been on the phone, calling up each one of our neighbors, asking whether or not they've seen you?"

Peter shriveled in stature as she took a step closer, her expression scrunched tight with suppressed rage. "I was this close to calling the police, Pete."

Peter's shoulders drooped, his heart remorseful. He really hadn't planned on worrying her like that – but he also hadn't realized how long he'd be sat on the floor of that little flower-shop. He didn't want to work her like she was a parent – Peter knew she had a life of her own to live, with responsibilities just as important. He just didn't realize how panicked she'd be – since he hadn't exactly stayed out this late before.

He tried scrounging for a response, stuttering and failing miserably, before his eyes fell from her face.

"I'm sorry," He said softly.

May's eyes warmed a shade, but Peter knew he wasn't being let off the leash that easy.

"Explanation _. Now."_ She demanded sternly.

He stumbled, taking May's kinder voice as an indication of forgiveness, but replying a dash too quickly. "I was uh- At Ned's. We've have this huge science assignment for homework, May you would not believe!-"

"You're lying to me. I'm not buying it." She interrupted.

Despite May Parker's inability to spot little things that were off about Peter's habits – like the web-shooters he had not so smoothly shoved away last second – was where she knew when to spot a lie, as quick as they came. "You better tell me the truth right now, young man. Before I take away your Ninten-whatsit-called."

Peter could've laughed before he registered that her expression was completely serious.

 _No._

 _Oh god no._

Pete's heart dropped to his stomach in dismay, his soul a cavern of long-forgotten woe – all stemming from the mere _thought_. The very concept that he wouldn't be able to finish his game of EarthBound on his super-Nintendo. He was almost at the final boss, so naturally – he'd pick a fight with any creature on heaven or earth who wanted to get in the way.

But, knowing May, he knew he had to concede. He was never a very good liar anyway.

Sighing, he begrudgingly gave way to the truth. _Some_ of the truth.

"I was um- with- girl. _A girl."_ He revealed stiltedly, like he was an alien secretly infiltrating earth, trying to make himself look like he knew basic speech, but failing horrifically.

May's eyes bulged, like she was expecting anything but what he told her. "A girl?"

Peter suddenly grew insecure – nodding weakly. "A girl."

 _Ugh._ He wanted to cringe, suddenly realizing how this was all sounding.

"What's her name?"

May had suddenly sparked to life, a tiny smile that told Peter she was getting too excited without literally any backing.

 _Oh great._

"Andie." Peter blurted the first thing that came to mind.

 _Mother-trucking fuck, how had it come to this?_ The flower girl was just a stranger – so what honest-to-god reason did he have for telling May about her? He didn't know, but he'd already gone and done it, hadn't he? So what else could he do but follow his current train of thought – use a fake name. _Genius_. It was just happen-stance that he'd picked the lead of an 80's movie to make up the fake girl in his mind. Yup, cause when in doubt – the soul of John Hughes (even though Peter wasn't exactly sure if the man ever died) somehow always possesses the body to talk about Molly Ringwald.

Seeing that he had to throw in a last name, from the expectant look on May's face, Peter scrambled for one. _I swear to god if you say 'Walsh'._ He ended up going for nothing less conspicuous, following up with a quiet, "Baker."

May lifted an eyebrow. "Andie Baker?"

"YEp," Peter agreed hastily as May poked him once in the side – a cheap attempt at attacking his defenses to see if he really was lying.

"Hm, and you're sure you're not just mix-matching the two names of two iconic characters together? I don't recall teaching you to be such a crappy liar Petey."

Peter squirmed at the pet-name – she knew he hated being called that. He then gave her a look – equal parts fear and awe. "How did-"

She held out a stopping hand. "Molly Ringwald was my girl, back in the day. Try again, young grasshopper."

May sighed when Peter didn't reply, blank with no more excuses.

There she stood, looking at this kid she cared so much about, not ever really knowing if she conveyed it as well as she'd like to. She remembered every time Pete would come home excited because he did well on a pop quiz, back when he was younger and watched PBS. It had now escalated into May having every single one of Peter's report cards framed up in various areas of the apartment, to show off her genius nephew to anyone who stops by.

Okay, while that part wasn't true, it wasn't far from how much May did care. She kept them all – every report, every drawing, every and anything Peter ever made and brought home. They'd been so close when he was younger – before Ben... But May respected his privacy. She just couldn't help the hurt of when she sensed him lying.

 _"_ _Pete."_ She got the boys attention, one of her hands going to his chin, forcing him to look up. "Look, I don't know what's been up with you lately. _But lying to me?_ You gotta give me something to work with. And that something will not be fine with letting you stay out past curfew."

She was far too patient with him – and Peter, though he couldn't show it, knew how incredibly lucky he was to have her. He'd become so much more distant since he'd had to adopt the mantle of being more than what he felt he was inside – being more than just some broke kid. And as a result of that, he had noticed the wariness between him and his guardian – with Peter always being on edge with where he put things, and what he said around her. Being a shitty liar just doubled his work, since he constantly had to catch himself. No spidey sense could do it for him.

"You're right. I'm sorry – it's not gonna happen again." Peter started, looking up at her, suddenly determined. "If it does, you can ban me from ever talking about Star Wars again."

May snorted – realizing he'd said that at the expense of her absolutely despising the space-themed space-flicks. Like, why did those 'storm-trompers' never land a shot? Or why was it that Peter kept losing his shit when May said she liked the little Ewok things. Nothing compared to the heart-break on his face when, after making her sit through all six movies, she said that she preferred the prequels. God almighty, her confusion was enough to lead her into just hating the whole series altogether.

Peter was on the complete opposite end of that spectrum – which surprised May that he was willing to give up something so important, just to apologize.

"Well then, that's convincing enough for me," May patted him once on the head, giving him a brief look of amusement. She realized he'd avoided explaining himself, but couldn't do anything but believe that he was fine. That this was just him being a kid. She moved to the door then. "Go to bed, Peter. I'll just ring up the neighbors then – tell Ms. Mason next door to stop printing the missing posters."

Peter sky-rocketed in his seat, shocked as hell. _"What?"_

 _He hadn't known how serious May had been._

His worry was shot down when he heard her snickering. "I'm joking. Go to bed, Peter."

Without waiting for a response, May was out, closing the door behind her – leaving Peter to the empty confines of his room.

He fell back onto the mattress of his bunk-bed – hands smoothing over his face in exasperated worry. _Ugh, I'd let it get risky this time_ – he realized. He _had_ to work on his time management to further avoid threats to the things he enjoyed. _Never talk about Star Wars again? I'd rather spontaneously combust._

Still, Peter had to consider. May was handling it so well – and he recognized that. Never pushing, always giving him space. He decided then that he wanted to do something for his aunt – a quick thank you, which was far more than what she deserved.

He relaxed a bit – a brilliant idea creeping up on him. Well, more than one, he supposed.

 _Tomorrow would definitely be an eventful day._

* * *

 _Somewhere, on the other side of town, the sun had begun to stir._

* * *

Cool early mornings are so fucking deceptive.

You wake up and the world is silent – as if it ended the night before. The sun is still resolutely below the horizon and the street outside is dark, like some old-school black and white movie. You breathe once and watch the hot wind turn to icy mist – resting on the bridge of your nose.

Sure, it's comforting. It makes you wanna snuggle closer into your blankets. Closing your eyes is the real trigger, that is – Cause that's when you feel the heady pull of your dreams, beckoning you back to play. But when you feel the cold, you just know the sun hasn't risen – and that you haven't yet had a full nights worth of sleep, since it's the same air from when you went to sleep.

Sure that would be fine if you got to go back to bed immediately after. It's just that I didn't have that luxury.

 _3 in the morning to 7 – great. Sleep-deprived and ready to go to work? Let's do it baby._

I cracked an eye open. Immediate regret was quick to follow.

"Ugh, I'm gonna scream. But I'm too tired for that, right now." I mumbled to my empty room like some old drunken geezer. "Raincheck, then."

Like a little kid at the swings who's been told its home-time, I rolled over my soft cushioned mattress, begrudgingly, to the light switch to flick it on. Immediately, the room was bathed in that unnatural electric glow. I should do something about that, get some fancy soft glow bulb, or perhaps just a nicer bedside lamp.

Later than sooner, I reluctantly made to uncover my face – digging my knuckles into my tear ducts to wipe the dust out've them. In a blur that followed, I vaguely remembered stumbling up from my ridiculously warm bed – groaning and pressing a chaste, apologetic kiss to one of the pillows.

 _Time to adorn my usual dressage._

I registered once again, how fucking weirdly it was I dressed, as I stood in front of my rooms full mirror – grumbling in distaste as I eyed the odd mismatched articles of clothing. It had just become habitual by now, to dress _solely_ in clothes that fit a very specific comfort criteria – the rest getting shoved to the back of the closet. I only ever needed anything baggy beyond belief, anything made from the softest of cottons _(since I wasn't a freaking mogul, Target did nicely_ ), and literally anything with two never-ending wells for pockets.

Today I'd adorned a plum coloured sweater three sizes too big, the warmest pair of leggings I owned, a striped scarf that was truly a detestable shade of army green – not to mention the strawberry red boat-shoes I owned that were beyond scuffed by now, falling apart in several different places. I'd owned them since I was 12, but it's not like my feet looked ready to grow anytime soon – so they were still good in my books. Plus, wearing them kinda made me feel freer – like I was still a kid romping down Queens' empty streets when it rained – since even a slight drizzle was enough to send half the population running back into their homes.

A nifty lil trick I'd picked up though, in all the magnificent fifteen and a half years I'd been alive, was that with a skirt on top – literally anything could look semi-decent. So, following the astute advice, I slipped into the only decent denim skirt I owned – tucking the sweater in, to where I didn't completely hate the whole look.

I skipped along the tiled floorboards of our apartment, straight into the kitchen without letting my feet hit any of the lines that separated each ceramic tile – because obviously, it was a sacred tradition for anyone who's ever lived to do so. You touch one of the lines, you die.

Traipsing down the long stretch of hallway that separated the living space from the bedrooms – I jumped only when I saw a flash of auburn at the window.

 _"Bonnie!"_ I clutched onto my heart in shock, watching as the elusive creature stretched her body into a noodle like version of itself, her tail rapidly hitting up against the window – a tell-tale sign, requesting entry.

 _That damn cat._

I should just leave her out there and let her fend for herself, like the crotchety old spinster she was.

We'd had Ms. Bonnibel since she was a wily, rebellious teen – finding her, out on the street, living in our back alley of all places. Ever since then to now, she'd leave for days on end, the old bag – each time coming home with a little gift of sorts to make amends. She was still spry for a 14 year old kitty.

The cat herself was the prettiest shade of hazel-nut. You'd barely even notice the patches of discoloured grey and white she'd adopted in her old age – she was that vibrant. Like an evenly roasted piece of toast, I liked to say.

Still, she was a flighty little bastard, and no amount of batting those pearlescent blue blinkers at me could get me to budge.

I eyed the window, seriously considering it _._

 _Oh, think of all the money we'd save on cat food._

 _But nah_. I suppose I'd miss her too much – she'd grown on me, much like how a fungus would.

Reaching forward to slot the window up, my sweaters sleaves balled up over my hands to protect them from the morning chill – I watched, unamused, as the cat perched her ass right in front of me. She held a twig in her mouth, seemingly ordinary at first, if it wasn't for the impressively large maple leaf that was still holding its shape, right at the tip. I could swear, this animal was more human than cat sometimes. Always, she'd bring home odd little knick-knacks – things that always looked pretty.

She was an odd little lady, that's for sure.

Not even like the ordinary, _probably smarter_ cat – the kind that brings home tiny dead animals from hunts – acting on survival instinct to feed their family of incompetent, hairless humans.

I plucked the twig from her jaw, twirling it in my hand with a smile. I gave the cat a look then. "If this was a hunter-gatherer society, you'd have failed us disgracefully."

She meowed noisily in response to my voice, lazily flicking her tail back and forth.

Sighing contently, I reached forward and wrapped my arms around her, picking her up as if she were a baby.

"You're my little Russian lady," I recited the vine with a deep Russian accent, kissing her square on the nose. I'd seriously taken to poking fun at her because of her demureness – her status as an elderly really giving me a full-blown arsenal of little nicknames to call her. Mumbling into her fur, I asked, "Where were you last night? I was freezing my ass off, and would've liked you in place of a toasty hot water bottle."

She licked at my arm as I closed the window, letting her down to roam the apartment.

Wow, it hurt me how much I just wanted to sleep – the sight of the sun just making its way up the skyline dutifully instilling the thought that literally no one should be awake at this time.

But I suppose that was just the way these things were supposed to go.

Getting older – there were a whole heck of a lot of new responsibilities I had to deal with. None of which I had to be happy about, mind you. Go help out at the shop, clean up the apartment when mom's too tired, make dinner most nights, feed Bonnie, deal with schoolwork, _learn how to handle these wack powers_ – it was more than I'd ever had to deal with before. But to throw a hissy-fit, just because I couldn't stay in bed all day like I wanted to – now that would just make me look like an asshole, now wouldn't it have?

Sighing to myself, I stretched out like I'd seen the cat do seconds ago.

A seconds worth of a pause was all I needed then, to grab an apple to go, then my back-pack full of useless shit and to head out the door.

* * *

The brisk jog to the shop was a good time to ponder my collective realisation of 'oh shit, mom's gonna be at the shop – and last time I checked, we were still in the signature 'Prieto-family' way of being mad at each other.

It consisted mainly of staying passive-aggressive, and overall, acting like total edge-lords as we tried to avoid the other at all costs.

I was mad at her for having hidden something so huge for so long – she was probably mad at me because of how I felt the need to get rid of these powers. She called it a gift from god, I called it a freak-mutation that would probably see me being experimented on in a freaky lab by the end of the year – thus, _conflict._

I groaned, my hands shoved to the very bottoms of my pockets as I reached the back door to the shop, unlocking it.

Entering, I passed by the large room that held my 'office,' as I liked to call it – even though it consisted of nothing more than the old stained wood of my desk, the bumble-bee yellow coloured walls I'd painted myself, and just the huge mess in it, that were dozens and dozens of flowers of all kinds strewn about. Some were tossed across the floor carefully; others were already on the desk in the process of being turned into assorted arrangements – the finished ones never stuck around too long, always out the door the second I'd stick a fancy bow on them.

I supposed the scene would look pretty if I cleaned it up – not like someone massacred an old woman's garden and disposed of the evidence here. But I liked it the way it was – a chaotic calm, where I was the only one who knew exactly where every small thing was supposed to go.

I'd come here outside of work, to relax sometimes, despite the mess – oftentimes napping on the lie-down armchair over in the corner of the room. The plush green never hurt my eyes with the horridness of its colour – since it often reminded me of forest moss. With my face securely buried into the cushioning, I'd usually open up the wide bay window we had, to let in some sun as I slept, letting the twinkling of the wind chimes near the front of the shop lull me away.

 _Unlucky_ for me though, I was on delivery duty this week. So sayonara, nights of back pain after being hunched over a desk – and hello instead, days of having my feet hurt like all hell.

But I suppose there were more immediate things for me to worry about.

With careful steps, heavy enough to purposefully alert anyone else of my presence – I began making my way to the front of the shop. The immediate plunge of the floral scent was enough to fill my lungs as I entered – letting me know that, even if I was blind, I'd know exactly where I was without any help.

The flowers seemed like a vague afterthought though, as I stood face to face with the woman of the hour. My mom.

She was positioned at a long metal rack that almost squared the entirety of the shop – her eyes not once straying from her task of prepping up some Carnations.

The silence I'd expected. The both of us knew by now – whoever spoke first was the one who admitted defeated – the first to lose.

Fittingly, they were _also_ the one to end up on pizza-duty – it was a little bet we had, since mom always hated having to walk the few blocks and _me_ ; well once I was in my pajama's I would never leave the house for anyone or anything. Surely you see why victory was of utmost importance – the stakes were much higher than a simple game of rock-paper-scissors.

Another perk of neither of us saying anything – I got to analyze. Yup – like a wannabe Sherlock Holmes, I often took it upon myself to analyze. I mean okay, sure – my vision wouldn't enhance and my brain wouldn't work at a thousand clicks per second at supersonic speed, but you'd be surprised with what you could find when you actually went looking.

And of course, with my mom being such a concrete wall – the game seemed constantly on.

Observing the woman in front of me – a closer look told me that she wasn't really 'working' the way I thought she had been. Her hands swept along the bushels of pink, purple, and oranges – but she was stalling. Isabella Prieto was a quick worker, and would have long-since finished the bows on those flowers.

But a smaller, far more interesting detail, gave way – it was enough to make me gasp. I had spent a good majority of my childhood studying the topic, so it just seemed ever the more unlikely to be a coincidence.

 _Carnations._

Native to Spain. The national flower. She was handling them just a smidge more carefully than she would any flower.

 _She was homesick._

I sighed.

 ** _Damn_** _. And I really thought I'd be the one to win this time._

I slumped over concedingly then, leaning my weight into the opposite side of the flower rack.

"Y'know, I always thought the reason the flowers in my room grew so well was because there was a little fairy living near them. Thought maybe she had a little crush on me – decided to help me out."

My voice was quite as I spoke, my eyes falling to the plants beside me. I watched as leafy tendrils seemed to fleck and stretch out ever so slightly – without me even giving them so much of a sideways glance. _Thirsty bastards,_ I scowled.

An amused intake of air was quick to follow from the other side of the room.

"Sounds like something you'd say when you were smaller."

I rolled my eyes. "Back when I was ' _Loony Luna.'_ " I made an over-the-top freaky expression – my fingers curling around my eyes like glasses, before I sobered glumly. "I was a freak, _ma_. Guess that never went away."

My thoughts flashed to all the days I spent alone, slipping by unnoticed – how I'd always sneak out and try to get away from places with a lot of people. Like the parties mum would take me to, where the other kid's mom just sent obligatory invites to the whole class. No one expected me, but I always did try – I tried getting on with kids my age. Unfortunately though – when things didn't work out, and they never did, I'd always just find a way out, taking comfort in their backyards while the rest of them sat inside playing with barbies or watching t.v. There had always just been something there that didn't click between me and the rest.

Like a kid literally high on crazy thoughts – you'd always just see me going about, saying we had pixies in our garden, or Hobgoblins living in our attic – I talked about crazy hypothetical's, like what the world would be like if we lived on clouds, or if lightening was reversed and we just had flashes of dark in the middle of the day. A child's drabbles that always seemed to drive the other kids off in the opposite direction.

There was always something _off._

It was just now that I realized _why_ I was like that. _It was these stupid powers_. I literally felt a split within me. A part that felt human, so _completely_ human – and then another. Like a weird, foreign buzz that felt anything but normal.

Where the human part was stronger now – it took me time to realize how consuming the other had been why I was younger. Almost like it had been dissociating me from everything else.

It called to me in a way that made me hate it. _It scared me_ – _the thought that an instinct could so heavily change my way of being._

 _I was me now – I was normal. But every now and then, I'd be lying if I didn't have the urge to go explore some of the nature reserves – wander so deep into root and tree that I lose myself completely, hidden from any other sentient thing. It was a pull that made no sense._

I jumped at the feeling of two very human hands. No root and no tree could have warmth like this.

 _"_ _Look at me,"_ It was mom, her face close – her eyes were soft, yet held an intensity that made them look angry. "You need to calm down."

 _What? What was happening?_

 _How had I not noticed her scale the length of the shop to get to me?_

I almost screamed at the incredibly out-of-place noise that followed the thought. _A crack of thunder._

 _"_ _Is it raining?"_ I asked, completely startled _. Tell Thor not to get his panties in a twist._ But wait – the morning sky I had woken up to, it was clear – not a single cloud in the sky.

My mother smiled slowly, carefully. "Not if you calm yourself."

 _Oh._

 _So this is what she'd meant._

I tilted my head ever so slightly to look out the window, noticing the heavy breeze that had picked up – dead leaves spiraling into little whirlpools of air – the milky pinks and yellows that had been in the sky earlier were concealed now – a blanketed cloud above. My mind had been in a bad place, sure – _but this was insane._

I never thought I would ever say this, but – to have power over the occasional weed growing in the sidewalk was a whole hell of a lot more normal in hindsight to this. _Controlling the weather? Just because my mood was a bit sour?_

I was distracted from that train of thought when my mom shook me, her hold just as determined.

 _"_ _You. Are. Not. A. Freak."_ She spoke, her voice strong – each word emphasized to its fullest. "Many a thing, mija. You are many things, but never a freak." She stroked my hair, her eyes full with a trace of remorse – even though I didn't know whether her words were just as insulting. "I never wanted to you to feel this way, I swear to you, baby. These 'powers' – your powers, they _are_ you – an important part. But you come first – always."

I felt my lip tremble for a second before I caught it – I had to be careful, but I'm sure the emotion was all over my face.

 _That_ – coming from my mother of all people. It felt like I'd been tossed into a parallel dimension.

There were moments growing up where she always seemed so, so tired of something. I mean, I knew that she loved me in the odd, mind-gamey way of hers – but I'd never considered that that tiredness was because of how I was – what I was like. She had been as new to this when I was younger, as I was new to it now – but she seemed so much more accepting than anything I could've seen in myself.

These powers were odd and foreign to us both – and we were dealing with it together – but she held belief in her eyes, a hope I didn't have.

I sniffed.

"That's nice to know," I stated blankly. And like that, the moment was gone – with her exasperatedly sighing.

Lightly, looking much sprier compared to the stiff way in which she held herself at first, mom almost floated back to her flowers – her hands seemingly unbound from their previous act, as like lightening – she made quick work of all the arrangements.

Outside, the sky had settled as well.

 _Trippy._

"I hope you're in the mood for pizza, by the way," Ms. Bella jeered, waggling her eyebrows at me. Then, passing by me to get to the counter – she patted my cheek good-naturedly. "Looks like the welt in the sofa will be missing you tonight."

 _Ah! The gall,_ I smirked. She was always the natural-born roaster of the family – I was but a pale imitation in comparison. Still, it gave me every right to scoff.

I gave her a dirty look, my lips pouted in disgust. "It's fair enough that it's my turn, mom. But don't judge me if I just want to sit on the couch watching _Chopped_ reruns all day."

"Honey, this is an intervention. If I let you stay at home all day, I'd just be enabling a bad habit," She smiled charmingly, her nape length hair swaying with the head rolls. Her eyes then flicked to behind me – landing square on the wall-clock. "Now will you be fine delivering today? Ms. Bradford called in an order for more Petunia's – odd, she must be decorating her whole place."

 _Mierda_.

I still hadn't told mom about the little 'incident' I had – nearly missing my stairway to heaven (or hell, I wouldn't be surprised either way), when I just so happened to decimate a hundred dollar batch of flowers during my little tumble into the streets of Queens. There had been the little note of a certain red-and-blue cladded urban legend as well, but knowing my mom, she wouldn't give two cripes about him.

The real enigma here was Ms. Bradford still – the old woman with the copper Charles Spaniel – I had no clue why on earth she'd gone ahead and kept the detail of her not getting her goods a secret.

I jumped when mom cleared her throat noisily – her eyes sharp and suspicious.

"HM? Oh yes, definitely very, very odd." I tripped over my words – thinking of a semi-believable response. "But y'know, the older you get – the more you appreciate pretty things."

She took a second, a twitch in her eyebrow telling me I'd convinced her.

"Supongo que sí." _Suppose so_. Mom recited breezily, before returning to her job messing with the cash register. I mean, with her having turned back to her work, I suppose all I had left to do was to go. Hell, I was already almost running late – with the first deliveries ready to go, lined up at a specialized desk for me to carry away. A look out at the city streets told me I could definitely take the van today – empty lines of asphalt with barely a single car around _always_ being a good sign. "Oh and before I forget, a boy came in to look for you earlier." _Oh?_ _Isn't that interesting development?_

"Oh?" I recited, much less coy than in my head. A sneaking suspicion told me that I already knew who it was. I mean, how many boys did I really know after all?

 _Eager, aren't ya' Parker?_

But damn, I hadn't even thought about that boy once since I'd gotten up today.

I mean, after he left the shop last night, I should've been convinced that he was some kind of a pick-pocket, or was out there selling drugs – though, perhaps it was a gut instinct that told me he was harmless. After meeting him, I categorized the encounter as a thing to forget about. In fact, I just returned home – without a scratch on me – my mind already having shifted back to looking for my sketchbook (Spoiler, I still haven't found it and now I hope it has a beautiful time with whatever color pencil it seemed to have eloped with).

I felt weirdly amused by him though – because _obviously_ – I should've known. He was a 'morning person.'

Traditionally, I detested all preppy people who were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed before the sun rose – just as much as I hated mornings, or people in general. But I would admit, from our introduction, he did indeed seem like an extremely 'morning-y' type of guy.

It fit him well.

I deflated then, my thoughts grounding back to reality and how stupid I was being even thinking of this. I guess it was for the best – avoiding him, that is. I mean, it's not like we'd have anything in common anyway.

"He was looking for _me_? You're sure?" I asked, just to make sure I wasn't making a total ass of myself in my thoughts. Who knows, perhaps it wasn't Parker and was instead a gentle-manly suitor from a far-off land, come to take me away to a life's-worth of woe-begone adventure – or maybe even just someone who'd found my lost sketchbook, somehow attempting to contact the store from the address card I had stuffed in the front pages pocket.

Mom looked vaguely reminiscent, like she hardly remembered the boy, before answering.

"Hm? Maybe. He did buy a bouquet of Marigold's – saying something about them being his aunt's favorite color. Orange." She said thoughtfully, her smile turning sly. "Yes, he was a sweet kid, awfully cute – when was the last time you brought me home something thoughtful?"

I rolled my eyes lightly, arms crossed. "Yeah I'll keep that in mind for next time, _Auntie_. What did he say about me?"

" _Paciencia, tiger._ I get that admirers aren't quick to come around the block _but sheesh_ ," She snapped back, earning her a look from me. She rolled her head, returning to her gossipy stance. "So anyway – it was when he was at the counter – he mentioned you _ever so smoothly_. And by that I mean, he was a stuttering mess – asking me if we were related. I think he even thought I was you when he first came in. Like I said, awful cute." Mom professed with a cunning smile – like a viper talking about a chick. "I just ended up telling him you weren't at work today."

 _Hm – sounded vaguely like the boy I'd met._

Attempting to act like her words didn't faze me in the slightest – I shrugged lightly, moving to grab the van keys from behind the front counter. "You should've told him I was a figment of his imagination – but seeing as you can't rewind time – if he does come back, you could mention I've gone off to some boarding school."

"You never plan on seeing him again, eh?" My mother smiled sympathetically, like she understood. That was until she put on a knowing look. "Was _he_ the 'James Dean' you so fondly spoke about the other day?"

 _"_ _No."_ I pressed firmly, almost scoffing, before easing into a non-committal, breezy smile. "I wouldn't be running if he was. But what can I say mom? I'm as flighty as a bird. It's just in my blood." I sobered a bit, attempting to make it clear that this shouldn't be something for her to get her hopes up for. "He won't be a problem _ma_ – not if you can make a believable bereaved mother, distraught by the mysterious disappearance of her only child. Or so he'll think."

The older woman huffed at me like I was this small, unwisened thing.

"Mija. Life isn't about what you go around doing. It's who you do them with." She looked at me meaningfully – her clichéd words like something out an old movie. "I'm an old bat, dear. I can't be the only one you can be yourself around – not forever. School starts back up in a few weeks, so _meet someone."_

I smiled at that.

"I'd rather choke on my tonsils," I said charmingly, delighted as she rolled her eyes, before swirling round to the door with a handful of deliveries I'd have to make. I was a big believer in the whole 'if it's meant to be, it shall' when it came to relationships of any kind – but life was much simpler when you didn't go pursuing them, like a coward. Clicking my tongue and whistling, I flashed mom a brief grin before I was at the door.

"See you at home, mother dearest."

Resigned, she wished me off. "Stay safe, daughter of mine."

 _Yeah, as long as I stayed as inconspicuous as possible –_ I thought _– hopefully I wouldn't be running into any more latex-wearing men swinging around in tights, or their rich, play-boy countertypes._

* * *

The drives I made around town passed relatively quickly – and by that, I meant without the added fear of being caught up in the summer's next action block-buster; starring an alien crime syndicate with their hands on some glow-y gem of ultimate power, an assortment of hero's from the backs of trading cards, or yours truly as the loser kid who had no plausible reason to be there. Oh, and from some spinny thing in the sky – there was always a spinny thing in the sky when aliens were involved, I didn't know why?

No, _instead,_ the only thing of notable interest I'd managed to come across was that the Sardana's – a large Indian family from Punjab that lived down-town – were in the process of celebrating _Lohri_. It was a large event that they'd practice to mark the end of the winter solstice apparently, and from what I'd seen before I left them with their flowers, seemed awfully exciting. A large bonfire in the process of being built, the kids going around in fancy garments - singing folk songs, drums upon other instruments waiting to be used in the corner or the room – it all had excitement buzzing in the air. Oftentimes, I'd wish me and mom had a larger family to celebrate our heritage with, but it didn't stop me from appreciating how this family still preserved traditions from where they were from.

I had wished the family well – having dropped them a huge order of over a 100 Red Jasmines, or 'Goa's' as they had originally called in for – before checking off the list to see that I only had a single stop left.

Well, that _and_ pizza.

Ms. Bradford and her order of lovely Petunias had to come first.

I will admit – as much as I thought myself a ninny for believing it – the feeling of _eyes_ hadn't left since the incident. Sure, perhaps I'd gotten used to it, but I was acutely aware of someone's stare – always there. It had picked up so greatly on my drive to the old woman's house that I very nearly swerved into the sidewalk – thinking that I was being trailed by a suspicious jeep. As a byproduct of my paranoia, the plants in the back seemed to lightly spur and throttle around in their pots.

My knuckles were stark white on the steering wheel, my face stone. I needed to calm myself – just like mom had told me.

I was being insane, I had to remind myself. It was like being anxious in public settings – you felt like the smallest noise you made could kill you, even though it physically couldn't. The shortness of breath I had now – it was just like that. I was fine. I was fine as hell. That's when the deep recesses of my mind whispered to me – _Girl, you thicker than a bowl of oatmeal_. Now, with words of encouragement like that, how could I not feel better already?

I had taken a complicated route to reach her tiny apartment, not really wanting to pass the street I very nearly would have haunted if that car had made close contact.

With a swift dismount, I warily collected the flowers and made my way to her door – keeping a keen eye out for anything weird in the slightest.

It was a calm day – the sun was high in the sky, warm and simmering behind blankets of fluff. The streets were mostly empty, with little to no passer-by's – no one other than the occasional dog-walker, or the worker bees moseying around in their shops.

I rang the bell – content with my analysis of an unsuspicious city suburb.

After a brief bout of scuttling and a row of barks that picked up from the other side of the door, the barrier gave way to a pleasant looking woman, clad in pastel shades of poly knit cotton. An instant cloud of powdery talcum smell exited the house into the air outside – Ms. Bradford's age being clear as the sun, from the many wrinkles adorning her expression. Still, it was upon moments when she smiled – which she very rarely never did – that she seemed almost half her age, the youthful glow of her eyes giving way to a clear image of a what she looked like as a young woman.

"My dear! It's marvelous to see you, doing better already," Ms. Bradford exclaimed sweetly, her elocution perfectly pronounced from her many years of living in England.

She looked down at my knees, in awe of the fact that I was moving about after having scraped them badly the other day. It was hard to hide from mom, but I'd snatched some anti-septic and bandage to clean myself up – though, having never seen it done outside of movies, nothing could've stopped the yelp of surprise from how it stung like a bitch.

"Yes, hello Petunia," I smiled, quite genuinely for her, "I couldn't have stuffed up your order two days in a row, now could I have?"

She grinned, "Not after I kept that little secret from your Mum, I hope."

I ducked my head at that, still confused as to why she would have had my back like that. "Thank you for that – she definitely would've burned me at the stake for that."

Ms. Bradford burst laughing at that, sputtering like an old pipe.

"While I admire your use of metaphor – your mother is a lovely woman. She'd understand perfectly – though I doubt either of us should worry her, not when she works as hard as she does."

I felt a sigh of relief roll through me – still, a dash of curiosity remained. "If you don't mind my asking, why did you cover for me, Ms. B?"

"Why, I am fond of you, dear. You remind me of my Eleanor – she hardly visits now, but we do chat every now and again on the phone," She smiled warmly. "She would hide plenty from me when she was younger – and while I wasn't the most enthusiastic about it, it was always quite fun when we worked together to hide things from her dad. My old Charlie, he always was as sharp as a bowling ball. Clueless as a camel that'd inexplicably found itself at the North Pole. He never saw the camaraderie coming."

I found myself chuckling along to her exasperated tellings of her family – un-admittedly touched that she thought of me as close to what she described. She'd talk of her family often in the short months we'd known her from her trips to the shop. She'd resorted to deliveries the older she got, meaning that she couldn't really walk the distance to see mom. I guess that's what made it such a treat to come see her – the both of us always had something to share.

She sighed contently then. "Would you like to come inside, my dear? A little spot of tea never hurt anyone."

"No, I couldn't," I had to let her down politely – not wanting to, but knowing I'd have hell to pay for, dealing with a hungry version of my mother. "It's just the flowers today I'm afraid."

And with that, I entered briefly to set the flowers down where she wanted – quickly giving her pup, Theodore, a speedy belly-rub – before I was already ready to leave.

In the brief flash where Ms. B disappeared into her room, I watched as she returned with a bent envelope of sorts. Well, it wasn't really a proper letter as much as it was a piece of lined paper bent over – like it had been torn straight out a text-book.

"I had almost forgotten, Amalia dear, but this is yours." Petunia handed it over to me, her lined hands shaking with a slight tremor, as they did with people her age. I was going to ask what it was, nothing but confusion slowing my actions, before she hastily added something in.

" _It was that boy._ The red and blue one I've been hearing from on the telly. He left this at my door, but I believe it's meant for you."

In the wise, immortal words of Dr. Dre _–_ _Hold up, waiiiiiiiiiit_ (You know it, don't even lie. When him and the motherfuckin D-O-double-G rapped about weed that one time. You know the song, you heathen).

 _But seriously – I had not been expected this from a mile away._ Give me a crystal ball and a psychic and I never could've believed a more bullshit-y prediction – y'know, from all the other unrealistic shit those psychics sell to you?

With a sudden bout of nervousness, I stared down at the letter like it was a bomb. _Was this common super-hero practice?_ For the city's vigilante crime-fighter to go around leaving people notes? I mean, it wasn't like you'd ever read about Bat-man doing crap like this.

The paranoia was making its way back with a vengeance.

 _How did he even know where to find me?_ I started to ponder with some dread that this boy could have had ties with Stark – it was the only way he'd know Petunia, right? It would make me lose all the hypothetical faith I had in the kid – after all he did to seem so nice.

Wow, and after I'd gone and defended his ass to 'Cute-boy-McGee' last night. I'd look like a fool in front of Parker now, if the topic of the Spider-boy ever was mentioned again.

But hell, it was no use assuming shit if I didn't actually read what it said. So there, I went to open it, holding nothing but the worst thoughts in mind.

On the cover it said, _'To flower lady'_ – So that was a good place to start.

It read –

 _Hi lady, I'm really sorry about your flowers, they smelt super pretty and looked nice too (y'know, before they met their tragic ends) – I'm sure you worked pretty hard on 'em. I never could catch the guy that pushed you, so I'm real sorry about that too. I will definitely fight him._ _ **That is**_ _if I ever see him again… just to be clear – cause I don't want you to think I'm making it my sworn mission in life to beat this dude up. Sorry, this is in pen so I can't erase anything, so that was probably confusing – in fact, I should probably just say sorry and shut up before I look like an idiot._

 _I've left some cash in this envelope, so I hope it's enough to cover the charges. One more time, it was 100% my bad – and you can blame me for the PTSD you most possibly have from almost dying. Though, I hope you don't hate me enough to put some kind of flower curse on me – you know, or arrange different types, telling me to go screw myself in flower language. Since that would kinda suck._

 _Anyway, try and stay_ _out've_ _off of the streets from now on._

 _Sincerely from,_

 _P_ _Spider-man._

 ** _P.S._** _Why did the snail paint a big "S" on his car? Because he wanted people to say, "look at that S Car Go," when he rolled past. Y'know? Because of the car thing? – Not good? I know, car puns are_ _ **exhausting**_ _. badum-tsss. - that's to cheer you up. Because of the 'almost dying' thing._

There was a little smudge before the S in 'Spider-man' that he must've crossed out. Like he was actually going to write another name before his official-sounding one. I held the envelop upside down and shook it, watching as two crumpled 20's fell out. That, and some loose change – almost like it could've been some kid's allowance.

It took me a second, a brief interlude to understand, before – like any sane person – I started laughing.

 _It was a sorry note?_ _Were you really buttering my eggroll right now?_

All the horrid, black-mailing-y scenarios I could have thought up – all the ways I sensed that the hero was corrupt, using the fact that he saved my life to ask for some sort of reward. It was all moot. He was, _so, so surprisingly_ , exactly what was on the page.

One thought was conclusive. The note was adorable. _He seemed adorable._

I had literally only met him once, but in a world full of things that looked more and more suspicious – more untrustworthy than I'd ever seen them before – whoever this kid was, he was like a dash of liquid cluelessness. He seemed so completely untouched by the greedy nature of the world around him.

 _What kind of run-of-the-mill superhero went around doing that –_ I smiled, thoroughly amused.

 _Bat-man eat your heart out._

"Did he write something amusing?" The soft-spoken voice of Ms. B brought itself back to my attention. She cast me an expectant glance, like she wanted to get in on the joke.

I shook my head softly, not really knowing how not to smile right now. "No, but I did find a way to pay you back, Petunia."

It made sense, and truly made me feel all the much better – Ms. Bradford had paid twice for two separate batches of flowers, but had only gotten one batch for the price. Forty bucks was just cutting it, the other few of which I tugged out of my wallet.

"Darling, while I do appreciate the chivalry–" Ms. B started sweetly, waving her hands dismissively. "I doubt I need the money any more than you and that shop of yours. I'm mostly glad to see the money go to someone young, knowing for certain that they won't be using it on crack or shrooms."

I narrowed my eyes at her. " _Oh?_ I didn't know you had a comprehensive list on what I do for recreation, Ms. Bradford."

Now of course I didn't indulge in any psychedelics – but I did have a sneaking suspicion that the woman was about to put up a fight. And y'know – when sheer insistence did nothing, mind games always worked a trick.

She was about to speak, and I – about to approach to deposit the money into her lap, when a noise, off-kilter to anything we'd been expecting, drew our attentions.

I was vaguely aware of the green bills falling out of my palm when I startled – the exceedingly sudden, _loud_ thump at the door cutting off our arguing.

With my eyebrows raised, I turned back to Petunia, "Are you expecting someone?"

It was normal of course, a knock, if anything unexpected. It's just that the brashness of it gave me pause to worry. And with where we were too – this side of town harbored a whole lot of weirdo's.

Her eyes widened, her answer a nervous breath.

 _"_ _No."_

 _Ay Carajo –_ I cursed under my breath.

Expecting a druggie on the other side of the door, I planned to wait it out, maybe call the police if anything got too worrying. One thing was surefire though, I wasn't leaving this lady alone for shit.

Hell, maybe it was those guys from last night – the punks that were after that Parker. _Lordy_ , I couldn't even think over the dog barks that had picked up, Theodore going ballistic as Ms. B tried shushing him down – the knocking had grown louder until it wasn't even that.

It escalated until I was yelping, watching in close-mouthed fear as a foot came through wood – the door bursting open.

The man that emerged was stone-faced.

It was a suited man, a clear head higher than most people I would consider tall. The dude was built like a wild animal, veins popping in his neck, his biceps balls of strength. Even his shorter legs were swelling with muscle. The sight was enough to make at least one of my lungs collapse from how I'd suddenly lost all coherent knowledge on how to breathe. The hit-man (cause that's damn well what he looked like) stood with his arms behind him, actually having to duck down as he did what I feared he'd do next. I could sense Petunia screaming in the background, but all I could possibly hone in on was how he entered – like a colossus, footsteps heavy and laboured – into where we were.

When he moved – that's when it hit me.

 _I hadn't a gosh-darn, fucking clue on what to do._

I didn't know karate, I had no superior intellect in which to stall and outsmart the villain – hell, I didn't even carry mace around with me because I was afraid of it going off in my bag and ruining the vintage leather (I found it at a goodwill and thought it was nifty don't me). 'But your powers!1!' – You say? Sure, cause lemme just sprinkle some daisies on the freaking giant in front of me – we can all make flower crowns and braid each other's hair. Though, judging from the sheen of his bald head, I doubt that would be a successful plan of action.

Then, like a firework with a broken rope mechanism, most tension melted off like butter when he stopped rigid, moving in a swift swivel to allow for someone else to pass.

A much shorter man walked in – cladded in a much similar suit, but instead was round and red in the face, like some kind of adult cherub. His short brown hair seemed thinning, but his expression was what caught my eye. It was as though it was permanently contorted into one of mild exasperation.

His squinted eyes turned on me, one of his hands in his pocket – the other held onto a file.

"Nice to finally meet, you miss-" He glanced down at his file, "-Prieto. The boss has said a whole lotta 'bout you."

I watched open-mouthed, mostly in horror from the atrocious way in which he pronounced my name.

Still I managed to cough up a stiff 'sup?'

Unfazed, but tired-looking as though he's had enough of _the youths_ and would just liked to have gone home to his bi-weekly bubble bath, he sighed. "I hope it's not inconvenient, Ms. Prieto. But my employer has requested for the two of you to meet. Well, him and a few of his friends."

I felt conflict arise, protective instincts rising as I felt Ms. Bradford grasp onto my arm, watching the man as he spoke. Though a large part of me doubted she was still scared – as the large, lumbering guy that had broken the door down, was now crouched down on the floor, giving the fluffy King Charles Spaniel some belly scratches.

The mildly * ** _cough_** * _absurdly_ * ** _cough_** * precious sight, wasn't enough to distract from what the man had said however. I eyed him sharply, instinctively mirroring how mom acted in situations when faced with a threat.

"Yeah? Well you can tell whoever your employer is to take a hike."

"Ye- _ha_ , I don't think he'd appreciate that so much," The man seemed to go through several different emotions just imagining the instance. "Tony always appreciates spunk, kid. But not when it messes with my schedules. In fact, forget anything I said, because he would definitely make time _just_ to mess with my schedules."

I fell my tough exterior give way on account of the reveal. It suddenly made sense – why I felt as though I'd been followed around, why the man in question said he'd be keeping tabs on me.

Wide-eyed, I asked. "You're one of Stark's?"

"Yup, the name's Happy – As the badge clearly states. Head of Stark Security." The man stated proudly, two fingers tapping at the badge in his shirt that I hadn't caught eye of _. 'Happy Hogan'_ it said boldly, sounding quite like the spoof name of some professional wrestler. The man then pointed to his larger counterpart – his haughty expression dropping into one of embarrassment. "That poor excuse of a body-guard is called Tiny."

"Very fitting," I replied dumbly, not meaning the words in the slightest. Neither of them really held a match to what their names implied.

Happy just nodded then, glancing at his watch like he wanted to move things along. "Yeah, so like I said, I do so hope this isn't an inconvenient time for you." He didn't even pose it like a question.

I straightened. The rebellious streak in me that absolutely despised being told what to do was just cruising to be let out. It was a streak that hated losing.

 _Stark could go shove off._

"And if I say it _is_ inconvenient?" I tried to drawl, looking quite unintimidating in and of myself – like a pissed off Pomeranian, I'm sure – but stretching to make myself sound ice cold.

Happy just smiled, living up to his name.

Then, it was like the ground rumbled as I imagined how it was I landed myself in a freaking spy-film, and before I knew it, 'Tiny' was back – standing tall and effortlessly daunting, much to my jealousy. The muscle-y giant was stood a whole four heads taller than me, cracking his knuckles menacingly as he fixed me with a blank expression under his shades.

 _Whoo, boy._

The shorter faced man, _Hogan_ , looked much too confident as he calmly replied.

 _"_ _Then I'll be asking you to get in the car anyway."_

I gulped.

 _So much for pizza then._

* * *

 **A/N – Hey guys and gals, here's another quickie chapter for you (although no, 12,000 words is not quick jesus). I know there's not a lot of interaction between the two crazy kids in this chapter, so take it like somewhat of a slow-burn. Plus, for anyone that's wondering – I intend on having their school start-up soon, as they're in the middle of their yearly breaks (I just didn't want to rush into anything w/o a good basis for the characters personalities).**

 **I hope Amalia's not too much of an asshole to read – I really wanted to get down the angsty teen aesthetic she encapsulates. Since she's a kid, but also as she's slightly mature for her age (stuff like bullying can do that to a young mind) I thought it might make it hard for her to be relatable, so tell me what you guys think. Also, I get that her current attitude towards forgetting sweet, old Peter isn't the nicest – but you'll come to see why that is. She is very self-deprecating in that way – where she'll use sarcasm to cover up her feelings of not feeling good enough, just like she can't imagine why a cute stranger would ever be interested in her (little does she know that they've met twice).**

 **Like all the relationships I write – I try to have the characteristics balance each other out. So where Petey-boy is a bundle of happy optimism in most cases, Amalia is more of the pessimistic one that's dragged into wacky hijinks (true potential for a dog-person/cat-person relationship). I intend for them to help each other out. Example: like how Peter in the first part thinks that it kinda sucks that he has zero chill – that he's always moving – well, I think it'd be awfully nice to play around with the idea of Amalia introducing him to the concept of not giving a fuck.**

 **But that's all for the future.**

* * *

 **Anywho, let's look at some reviews (I always appreciate them guys – like, you seriously have no idea how much it motivates me to write more and faster when I see them).**

* * *

 ** _Monkeybaby_** **–** **Thanks so much! I hope you enjoy the chapters that are yet to come.**

 ** _Yusuke Kurosaki_** **– 'Yeah? U wanna fite about it mate?' – I say to the copyright licensers of Men in Black. Jk, this is just for fun and I'm not trying to cop their product. Though lol, i know it's cheesy to quote in the first place, so you win that.**

 ** _Akagami hime chan_** **–** **Lol, I hundred percent agree that everything Petey does looks suspicious – and it's kinda hilarious to see when I'm writing from Amalia's perspective, cause it really gives him time to look like a shifty bastard. I briefly mentioned the bit u said about him looking like a pick-pocket, because it's so true and was too good to pass up, I hope you don't mind. Thank u for still reading :)**

 ** _Eirafae_** **–** **this review stole the soul out've my body – I was bawling laughing. I loved that you like the bit about froggy boi's mouth – since I thought it would be nifty to add in a few memes. I'm so glad that the dialogue seems okay, and awkward like I've been trying to make it (can't have a high-school romance w/o that cringe) – so thank you. And dude, with how much you've supported my writing so far, best friends is no stretch. Thank you so, so much for sticking with these stories – cause even tho it's just for fun for me, I really might've stopped by now if it wasn't for readers like you.**

 **Anywho, enough sappiness. This is where I bid you readers adieu, until the next chapter that it. Because *dun dun* where is Happy going to take Amalia in the next chap? Cliff-hangers are the worst, I know. Leave your predictions in the reviews and we'll see who gets the closest – until the next time.**


	4. Chapter 4 - I Deserve My Own Valet

**The Flower Lady & Her Pest**

 **Chapter 4. Mom Always Told Me I Deserved My Own Valet**

* * *

The car ride to wherever-the-fuck was confining and headache inducing – _because what a way to end the week, am I right?_

Between having to sit in the back-seat of this freaking hummer, with _'Tiny'_ deadpanning me with looks (not the fabulous kind) every time I attempted to go for my phone, and actually having to be on Pizza-duty for the remainder of my mortal life – I'd never thought I'd say that I'd prefer the latter. Oh my god, it was past six and my mom was probably having a panic attack by now – and what's worse was that it looked like I couldn't even call her. Not with 'Fezzik the Giant' over here looking to rip my arms off anytime I actually tried.

I looked out the window – the faded black-out windows making it impossible for anyone on the other side to catch wind of me being hostage to these men in black™. Still, it let me check out the sky for what it was. The stars were practically nonexistent tonight, between those puffs of gray. The balls of cotton seen during the day had shifted into streams of ash and soot. They blanketed the sky, hiding the full moon behind them. But the moon fought – that tricky bitch – it fought to shine, or reflect light if you preferred (since it wasn't a sentient thing capable of fighting – something that romantic novels obviously gave no shits about telling you).

Neither thought seemed to help the ominous feeling that hung in the air.

 _Welp, if that's not foreshadowing, you might as well kill me now – y'know, before I show up dead in a week's time, in the back-alley behind an IHOP._

 _Ugh._

 _If I knew anything about 'Mr. Piping hot mess (gift-wrapped in all things money and Prada)' from the very limited amount of things I did know about him – he'd most definitely make sure it'd be behind a_ _ **freaking IHOP of all places**_ _._

 _No way was I letting that happen today – if I was to die, the bare minimum for where I'd allow my body to be discarded would be at the back of a Wendy's._

 _"So."_ My voice sounded small in the expanse of this uncomfortably large car. "Does Stark plan on driving me to one of his million dollar viennas in Italy? Cause I don't think I packed for that."

With Happy stuck at the front of the car, driving – with the buzz of the streets in his ears, and the limitation of my voice being anywhere close to reaching him through the small, shutting panel rich cars often seemed to have – Tiny was the only one I had to grill answers from. Though, judging from the look of what seemed like resting-bitch-face, I suppose he didn't appreciate the snark.

 _Shame, I thought it was a cleverer version of just asking 'are we there yet?' like a pleb who wanted to be sighed at._

My expectations failed ever so slightly at his silence, his concealed eyes falling back to look out the window – which I should have predicted from how silent and stone-faced I'd seen him be thus far.

Sighing, I felt my shoulders droop – not all that keen to show a hint of what I was genuinely worried about. "It's just been a while – and my mom's probably worried out've her mind." I looked at him –puppy-dog eyes at max capacity. "Please?"

I sat, waiting and watching as he didn't stir – the man who, even sitting down across me in this oddly shaped interior, doubled my height to where I had to crane my neck slightly to look at him. His arms were crossed over his suit unbendingly – that it until he looked over with the slightest twitch of the head.

Quite begrudgingly, he seemed to give way – responding almost exactly, yet not really, as I was expecting – he had a soft, higher pitched voice that sounded more laid back than the regular NY accent.

 _This man was a Brooklyn bitch if I'd ever heard one – just a bit softer than the all American gangster he looked like. Definitely not the Russian hit-man I'd be expecting._

" 'S not far." He shrugged.

I perked up, my hope reignited. _I'd got two words –_ that's better than what I'd been hoping for. And judging from his doggy day-care moment back as Ms. Bradford's house – it seemed like emotion and teary eyes were the way to go.

"So we're close?" I asked, perhaps a tad too excited over the response.

He fixed me with a stern look. "No talking."

"Why?" I pressed – a bit too sardonic as I let my general annoyance over the situation get the better of me. "So Stark can keep up this weird 'yer a wizard, Harry' shtick? Well, this all is feeling a tad more vaguely threatening then I think he intended for. Did he forget that he's not supposed to be the villain?

He crossed his arms – unperturbed as though his mind were far away on some tropical island – oblivious, as though he was day-dreaming about climbing back up the beanstalk to return to his other brethren (that was mean kids, all sizes should be respected).

It was the slightest shift in his demeanour that followed a minute after that really threw me. He'd shifted up in his seat – the most movement I'd seen from him.

"We're here," he nodded once to the window.

I promptly looked out, almost snapping my neck – when I caught sight of some kind of compound?

The dark, shapeless mass of stone _lit_ _up_ as the car seemed to cross a road-bump – until I found that it wasn't just that.

A whole collection of large facilities set out like some high-class, techie college campus. _My word_ , a single tile on one of those buildings was probably worth more expensive than anything I'd ever own – they looked that clean and pristine. Was that a plane?

My animated musings of what the hell I was looking at ceased at the sight of one funny little thing I'd failed to see.

The grey label of a single letter 'A' with a ring around it.

Now I might've partaken in the very healthy habit of locking myself indoors with nothing but a hoodie to bury my face into, a ponytail to squeeze my hair into an onion-shaped bun, a can of Pringles, and my laptop – with very little exposure to anything important to my real-life progression as a functioning cog in human society, mind you – but even I, an actual hermit, would've known that sign anywhere.

You know, being the third letter in the tallest, towering spire smack dab in the middle of Manhattan, often gave you that rep – even more so if it represented the only group of super-powered individuals this side of the globe.

 _Bringing_ _ **me**_ _here? Was Stark out of his actual mind?_

The thought was left on a hanger as the car came to a sharp halt, right in front of the epicentre of all the huge stone hills.

Tiny was out and onto the pavement before I ever could've even recited the first five numbers to Pi. Which, for me, would've taken an hour of pointless scrounging, followed up by random guessing, and then just giving up entirely. Now make like a tree and fuck off if you think that's pathetic – it was perfectly normal for an art student who'd snoozed though every lesson of math I'd ever had. But my point was that it was probably quick and doable for the average joe.

Anyway – he'd gotten out swiftly, leaving the car shaking from the disappearance of his weight – before he seemed to be standing but the side, not closing the door. I could only assume he'd left it open for me.

Dismounting, I felt quite dwarfed looking up at the expansive glass panels of this particular building. It was just so much of a jarring image from the not-so-great conditions I'd grown up around. It was so strongly convincing – the thought that my entire barrio could live here in comfort. _Gente rica._

"Flower child! I'm glad you made it!" A voice startled me.

It was clear enough though – who it was. The man who wasn't all that much taller than me, wearing a soot-coloured racer jacket, with an equally dark shirt underneath – his expression cocky, like he was some kind of Bond villain who went around trying to act like he'd never so much as touched a kitchen knife, despite the fact that he'd probably butchered like a thousand people.

No way was I telling him that, though. It would only goad him on.

"Well, you didn't give me much of a choice, did you Mr. Stark?" I replied through clenched teeth – casually angry with this man who'd casually assumed it was normal to abduct youths when he so wished.

"I suppose not," He grinned, looking awfully excited compared to what I'd seen him as before. Hell, even the bags under his eyes didn't look plum-coloured. "And also, you can start by never calling me that again - _'Mr. Stark'_ was my dad – and also kinda because I'm quite frankly afraid for my life when you say it like you want to shoot lasers into my skull. I'm just Tony to you."

"That's fair," I agreed, hating the feeling of referring to him as if he was my boss, or a respectable, responsible adult – of any kind really. I turned suspicious. "But don't think that means I'm cool with whatever _this_ is. What _is_ this?" I vaguely gestured to around us.

"Back to business, right-" Stark clapped his hands together. "Now, you do remember that little instance of when I visited you and your mom right? I assuming you do – _so,_ just wanted to check up on ya. Y'know, to see how Swamp-thing junior's been doing."

 _"What?"_ I asked, mildly affronted. I had been beginning to see it as more 'Sailor Jupiter' than a goddamn swamp monster – but I'd take it. "You want to know about the- um, power-thing?"

"No, I wanted to know your thoughts on these shoes. They're new and I think I'm working them." He rolled his eyes. "Of course I want to know about how you plan on taking botany to the next level, kid. And on that note – what you've decided from what I vaguely mentioned that one time."

My jaw snapped as I narrowed my eyes at him – stalling with a glare as I thought back to the 'vaguely mentioned' note.

 _You're one of us, it just matters whether or not you wanna be in the big leagues or not._

As smug as I wanted to be, I couldn't deny the fact that those words had left an impression. They showed me exactly what I dreamed I could have had. It wasn't something I'd wanted more than anything, mind you – it wasn't a 'dream' in that sense – I was more of a DC kinda girl growing up anyways, and if Black Canary wasn't around for me to gaze longingly at, what even was the point?

This was more like, watching 'Lord of the Rings' and wishing you were there for the ride. Like times every kid could've dreamt up the scenario of sitting in the back of Bilbo Baggins' garden, overlooking the shire – it was times I'd dreamt what it would be like to be something bigger than what I was.

This was like that, right?

It was so surreal, complete fiction – the thought that I _could_ be. A few steps, a few risqué steps in this direction, and I'd be someone new. But anything could happen between then and now, and one thing I knew for sure – once I signed up, there was no going back.

The Avenger lived dangerous lives. I would've been no exception – didn't matter that I was kid.

 _I didn't know if I was prepared for that. I really didn't. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't want to die._

I was being a coward, I know. Starks words were strong, but so were my own. Coward over killer, any day.

"Well, it's not like I've made my mind up – about what you said," I gulped. Then, lying through my teeth, I continued. "I haven't had any reason to. I want to forget that I have them, if anything."

Stark gave me a genuinely gob-smacked look.

" _Oh_. Well. That was _not_ expected." He tried to sound less like he was in a state. "Most kids would jump out their chairs to be like you are."

My eyes slowly widened, my lips stretched into an 'o' of disbelief.

"Oh my god, you're so right! A life of fame and success, what was I thinking, sign me the hell up." I dropped the smile so quick I could practically hear a crack form in the concrete under me. "Mr. Stark, all I want to do this fine evening is drive the hell away from here, grab a bite to eat and watch shitty reality TV until I fall asleep on my sofa. I have never wanted anything more."

And how sad was that? Well, it would sound that way to most – but to me, the static hum of the T.V behind whatever laugh track was playing on the screen, the sounds of mom turning in for the night, Bonnie purring against hand as I gave her soft scritches – well it was true. How could I ever have wanted anything more? I didn't even know what more to want?

So I stared Stark down, almost like I wasn't an actual fifteen year old with nothing to my name, stood in front of the man who couldn't get a step out the door before being mobbed by the whole world.

I lifted an eyebrow, waiting for a response.

Ever so unreadable, he was cut off from having to respond with anything when a distant voice called out from behind Stark.

"Tony?"

I turned to see a darker, slightly shorter man – stopping in his tracks as he exited the large glass door, his arms falling to cross over an expensive looking suit.

"Oh great, another James Stewart type," I sighed, flopping my arms about. "What's wrong Stark, so afraid I'm gonna wrassle ya' that you need another body-guard?"

Tony smirked as the man came up to us, like I was really cracking him up for some reason. "This is an old friend of mine – Colonel James Rhodes – also known as the Iron Patriot, a.k.a – less superior me."

The man smiled a long-suffering smile, "You wish. I know you for the suit and the suit alone, and I just somehow manage to do it better than you." He held out a hand to me then, completely gas-lighting the appalled look on his friends face. "Nice to meet you- Miss?"

"Amalia," I answered on instinct – going against my best instincts and liking the guy anyway.

"Bella's kid," Stark threw in, like that was supposed to mean something to the man.

Well apparently it did, because his face filled with recognition, an easiness overcoming him – as though by association I was ten times cooler. "Ah, _yup_. Your mom is tough as nails kid. Tony talks about the two of you sometimes."

I smirked, "Does he now? Thanks for input sir- _er_ Colonel."

"It's just Rhodey – I don't take the tie home," He smiled earnestly, eyes looking as though he's seen some shit. In fact, he looked quite tired. He turned to Tony then, a look of warning in his expression, "Just letting you know Tony, I've got some stuff I've got to go work on – but Pepper's been waiting for you to call her back."

"Oh the missus," Stark seemed to cringe. Out of fear perhaps? He then waved it off apprehensively, looking solely at Rhodey. "I'll get back to her on that, thanks dear."

Rhodey sighed, like he didn't like it, but couldn't have expected anything less.

It was quite endearing actually, because even through the contrast of personalities, you could tell that Rhodey wasn't really peeved off. It was pretty clear both guy would kill for the other. _Aw._

"See you man," He patted Tony on the shoulder in consolidation, nodding at me before he was off, a car already seemingly waiting for him.

I looked on as the car drove away into the distance, my face falling as I realised.

Oh _shit_ – he had seemed reasonable, why the fuck didn't I tell him I was basically the daughter from 'Taken' here. Knowing my mom and how she could easily beat Liam Neeson at 90% of the things he excelled at, I had to admit that I didn't think she'd know the first place to look for me if it wasn't in the dark pit that was my room. I was unpredictable that way.

"Sorry about that, flower-child, I'm a busy man," Stark brushed off a shoulder.

"Yeah, I bet." I snorted, thinking anything but. He probably just bought a place this big so he could lounge around like some manicured, pedigree housecat. "Can we get back to me going home now?"

"Yep. Just-" He paused, his mind seemingly thinking up a new course of action. Presumably since I hadn't just hopped onboard his version of the Justice League, not like he'd been expecting I might.

After a second, he begun bending his knees to meet my level, he gained a look of importance – not the usual patronising effect I believe I'd find in such an act.

 _Strange._

"Here me out. You can leave whenever you want, kid. Happy will be waiting with the cruiser to take you home the minute you snap your fingers – but, I promised your mom that I wanted to help you out." His look of earnest seemed strange, yet willed me to listen as he continued. "Now these powers aren't ever gonna just, _disappear_. You can keep them down, sure, maybe even get a few weeks in without ever having to remember. I've _felt-_ I've _wanted_ the same. To wake up a day and not see the hole in my chest – it sucks sometimes, knowing I'm not same guy from before, that no surgery can ever really get rid of it. But when I think about it, really sit down and think, I manage to catch a look or two at something... a bit bigger."

"And what do you see?" I asked, transfixed, despite the negging thought he was just making this up to win me over. But it was the look in his eyes – you couldn't stage that.

He opened his arms wide to his sides, almost pompously if not for the genuine smile on him, as he took in the view of the compound from where he stood – a ground that literally was a summation of the work he put into establishing it.

"Something that could help some people out. Something bigger than me – bigger than the Maserati's and the models."

 _Damn_.

 _Was today turning out to be a day for shattered preconceptions, or was it just me losing my mind?_

I suppose it was applaudable. The man had style – and I'd admit he wasn't the air-headed tycoon I'd made him out to be in my subconscious.

All that stuff he said about his own issues – well, it was _something_ wasn't it. And for him to say that to someone who was practically a stranger – that was some grit. Hell, I guess the tin-man wasn't all too crusty and without a heart after all.

I breathed a sigh, turning it into a whistle to signal a real sense of ' _Whoo boy_.'

"And if I were to stick around for another five minutes, how exactly would you go about 'helping me,' Stark?" I finally relented, observing as, instead of having his eyes light up the way a normal human would, nothing but the tiniest upturn of his lip gave way to the gladness he must've felt.

"Now that's the spunk." Tony pointed a finger into my shoulder, pepping up. "Follow me and the white marble road."

And with that, he turned and took large, important steps towards the clear glass door of the building. I bounded after him, my flats not really holding the same gravitas as Stark's clanking heels. It looked like this circle building was the largest in the centre, making me wonder if it was some kind of training facility, and that I'd go in to see pro-fighters perfecting the martial arts.

"Not a lot of people around right now. So, apologies if you wanted your forehead signed," Stark remarked, playing the role of uppity douche spectacularly – almost like he hadn't been the surprisingly uplifting version of himself from no more than a minute ago.

"What a shame," I said wryly. "There go my plans for making a few hundred off of you. Signatures go for a lot."

He laughed falsely and I realised what a real hoot he must be to live around (god help whoever else lived here), but I did startle when he suddenly shouted up at the ceiling.

" _F.R.I.D.A.Y,_ tell 'you-know-who' that we're headed their way!"

A voice, a woman's voice, answered from above. I was stunted to the umpteenth degree at the thought of someone watching and hearing our every moves, but processed the fact that the voice was ever so slightly stilty – _a robot._ It – she? – replied with a quaint, _"Right away sir."_

The shock of such a thing was replaced by amusement at the billionaire's words. Was Stark really trying to play this game with me?

"Ohoho, playing the pronoun game are we? Or alternatively, I didn't know you were roommates with Voldemort." My eyes glinted in amusement of this bizarre man, trying so hard to conceal what I was here for. "You're really going all out."

"I try," He grinned, self-satisfied. "Plus, I don't expect you to want to stay when you hear who it is."

"Oh great," I smiled, ecstatic. Despite the threat of death from whatever mutant he was hoping to toss me away to, the thought was exciting still.

 _I hope it's Lightening-man_. Was he dangerous? Yes. Was I willing to be in the same room as him, just to look at him? Also yes. Plus, it'd be cool to hear what space was like – get to know if E.T was real or just an inspired choice.

We walked past an empty reception first, everything about the interior looking suave-r than I'd ever seen in my life – walls and floors of smooth greyscale looking highly professional. It was most definitely a step away from the dojo I'd been expecting – especially when we walked into a way too large looking lounge. The ceiling went double the height of a regular home, a solid alabaster – the floor a mixed range of marbled greys and strong sandalwood patches.

I caught sight of a dozen security cameras too, promptly making aggressive eye contact with one, to assert my dominance.

There were a bunch of long sofas, vague artworks on the walls, and right at the centre of the room – an almost obnoxiously large widescreen T.V. I mean, what the hell would you even watch on something that big? My musings were interrupted as I looked past the screen, vaguely recognising another figure in the room.

It was a man, one I was able to see much more clearly the closer I got. His head was lowered towards the book he held in his hands, a clean mop of yellow hair hiding his face. I suppose I didn't even have to guess at that point.

 _"Ah, the Dorito man."_ I said, almost on instinct, like I was watching the news at home and forgetting that I was actually seeing him live. Still, I didn't dare do anything more but whisper – cause I wasn't in any mood to die from first-hand embarrassment today. I had names for all of them too – which I suppose would be fun to get into now that they were actually real people in front of me.

I was stood in front of Steve Rogers _, the first avenger_ – this man saved lives in WW1, was a poster boy warrior for everything the land of the free based their values around – but all I could think about was 'Jesus, the guy was ripped'. The width of his arm looked the same as what my thigh was – I was actually kind of jealous.

He must've heard Stark's clomping, because he looked up immediately then – two very clear, ocean blue eyes filling with recognition at the other darker haired man, and then the opposite emotion when he spotted me.

"Ah, well if it isn't America's golden boy," Tony's voice was loud, disrupting the quite of the room. "Stuck inside on such a nice night?"

The blond mans eyebrow twitched, the ever so slightest trace of annoyance highlighting his face.

"Tony." Roger's spoke as if it were a greeting – a fleck of snark in the tone. "What's it to you what I do with my time?"

Stark looked consoling. "Well, y'know – you're only ever 98 once. You're spry enough for a night out on the town, aren't cha'?"

"Very funny." The blond rolled his eyes.

I was stood, watching like an open-mouthed spectator as the two interacted, that is, before my eyes shifted from looking at Tony and his smug expression, back to finding the blonde man looking at me warily.

"Who's the kid?"

 _Oh snap._ It was one thing, I realised as an odd panic crept up my spine, to just _see_ someone you didn't normally register as real. It was one thing seeing their face on a screen, or through a piece of paper. The famous always did seem far away after all.

I mean, I was proudly bland, a cheap saltine cracker if I may – I lived off of vapid tabloids that described even the most salacious details of the private lives of the rich and famous, despite not giving two shits about them when it came to it. But this was _Steve Rogers_. It wasn't like reading about Stark in his front-page articles, it wasn't like knowing who called out who in the media, or if she dumped another guy or not – I, like most people, had visited his exhibit at the Smithsonian when we'd gone there on holiday. I actually respected this guy. I remember being eight and looking up at the rows of warriors, good men that had fought to end the fighting back in WW1. The Howling Commando's and their uniforms, the Captain's rad bike – his _story_. He had been like me, a young, scrawny nobody. He actually went out to make something of himself.

But that's when we thought he was dead – back when there was no way, like all celebrities, there was no way of actually seeing _you._ But here he was, and it was as much a mind-trip as I thought it'd be.

 _"Well go on short-bus, introduce yourself."_ Stark's voice almost made me jump out of my boots.

Oh no. I had fumbled already – staring at someone like a loon with wide eyes never was a good first impression.

" _Oh um- I_ -it's _nice_ to _meet_ you Mr. America- _oh_. _Captain_. Sorry." I spoke, a stuttering mess. _Real cha cha smooth, Ama_ – Oh shoot – _name!_ Introduce yourself for Criminy's sake. On instinct, I waved – not too much like a bird with its wing caught, I hope. "I'm Amalia."

Instead of looking back to Stark with a look of vague confusion at the basket-case that had seemingly wandered in, like I obviously expected he would, a smile of all things made its way on his face instead. I was stunted as he looked the way he did, a smile that seemingly made you feel so self-assured. Maybe it was a military thing, but it genuinely made me not feel like so much of a wreck.

"Nice to meet you," He replied, a very distinct Brooklyn accent – the timbre sounding as though it could grab the attention of a whole room, more purposeful than Tiny's had been. He waved back politely, but obviously like you could tell he didn't do it regularly. "Call me Steve."

"Oh you're kidding me," Stark sighed then, looking at me like I'd crossed a line. He _had_ been shooting me odd, befuddled looks during my nervous, fangirl-y introduction with the veteran.

"The Capsicle, _really?_ I mean, all I did was invent what? 80% of what people use for modern technology – but I just get a knife to the face, don't I?"

Shooting back a look of goggle-eyed astonishment, I reasoned like it was the most obvious thing in the world. " _Dude_ , he kicked Nazi ass."

Rogers laughed at that then, like whoa – go me. I'll admit, it was a hint like the kind of nervous, 'please stop' laugh you had when your parents boasted about you to the other parents at a party – but still, this was a step up.

The parallel was quite funny actually. There was Stark, all shiny and polished and mechanical, a perfect summation of the world we lived in today – the building we were stood in at the very moment. And then there was Rogers, a man that had lived through the birth of jazz, cobblestone buildings, rotary phones, and parties drowning in champagne. I genuinely couldn't tell which side felt more like I'd relate to – but, I always had been a bit of a history buff.

"Whatever floats your boat kid, and here's thinking the youths actually liked me," Stark waved off, before nodding his head back Steve, who just watched, looking pretty amused. "Well make it snappy, we don't have all night. While you and Jumping Jack Flash chat it up, I'll be over there, actually doing something important with my life. _Like calling up my furious girlfriend_." He whispered that last part, so low that that I barely heard him. And then, he reached into his jacket, "Oh and before I forget- _Happy Birthday._ "

But my special day wasn't for another month?

Then, like a freaking magic trick, he produced from his pocket, the last thing I could have expected – a sketchbook. _My_ sketchbook. _I could've shrieked_. _"So you're the goddamn pencil,"_ My voice wrung with outrage. "You eloped with my book!"

"I thought it'd give me an insight to your person. Also thought I could use it for leverage to get you here, but whoops, I forgot." Stark tried, ever so smug.

He was about to have it, _that is,_ before his own guardian angel must've sensed his imminent death – sending him an awfully convenient phone call, just in the nick of time. I didn't feel too bad about it though – because despite his cocky smile and the finger he held up to patronisingly silence me, outraged screams started berating him like music from a beautiful instrument.

His smile promptly fell as he ambled towards the back of the room.

"You sketch?" Mr. Rogers voice called out again – man, this guy must have the patience of a saint to deal with the multi-billionaire I was already debating whether or not to assassinate.

"A bit." I replied, forgetting my anger already. But oh no, I knew that look on his face.

 _He wanted to see._

 _Shit, he's going to see all the doodles I've done of breakfast foods! Or the sketches of Bonnie I did in Victorian clothing! Or the page I dedicated entirely to the snails living in one of our shops planters!_

Wow, I should really invest in some better models to avoid such situations.

Still, I handed it over just the same, abashedly. Taking a seat of the opposite sofa, I scratched at the skin of my thumb, watching his face go from interested, to apparent amusement.

"I remember the journal I had, back when I was your age." He spoke, like an old man speaking fondly of childhood memories. "I'd used to sit on the grate outside my apartment and draw the trees. And the squirrels that lived in 'em."

"Don't you still draw?" I asked, second-guessing myself when he seemed to tense, looking up questioningly. Stumbling, I tried defending my sudden question. "It's just- you sounded like don't anymore."

He seemed to think about that for a second. "I guess I don't. Don't really have the time anymore."

I felt a touch of concern at that – he seemed awfully like his heart wasn't in it.

He must've taken my silence for pity, because he responded in a joking defence. "When you've got as much as to catch up on as me, it makes sense, alright?"

"Aye, Cap'n. _Sorry_." I said, yet felt immediate regret at that. _Not really the time and place_ – despite it being the obvious thing to reply to him with, always. "What were you reading, if you don't mind my asking, si _r-_ Steve?"

He held the cover up, not really one for making a big deal out of it, as Stark probably would've with a _'wouldn't you like to know?'_ The book's title read – _On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century._

 _"_ _Oh." I tried. I really did. "That sounds... interesting." – It was fitting, I guess – though, I'm fairly sure we were covering that book later in school this year._

 _"_ _It's not for everybody, I'll agree." Steve laughed at my manners. He handed back my sketchbook then. "You draw like a pro, kid. I like the page that's just... birds with sunglasses on? I can tell you, no one drew like this in my day." He looked confused, but like it was something he was trying hard to relate to it. His expression turned slightly bittersweet. "I had a friend who would've loved that – cartoons and all."_

Before I could ask who he was referring to, Tony's voice was once again calling – no longer a hushed whisper from the corner.

"C'mon, kiddo – we've got stuff to do. Let's wrap it up."

Well, that was it I supposed – it was getting late and there was an unknown reason for why I was here. Damn, my knees almost shook when I properly realised how absurd it was – where I was. Like woah, it had suddenly hit me how I just _knew_ – I'd feel like a completely different person when I got home. In fact, I didn't feel at all like myself at all right now. It was a strange surge of ease almost – not in the _slightest_ like the strong sense of discomfort I knew I would've felt if you had just told me an hour ago that I'd be sitting next to Captain fricking America.

I mean sure, my hands held a slight tremble from the surrealism, and heck – maybe my knees were ever so slightly shaky. But I didn't feel like a nuisance, like a foreigner in a world where I didn't understand the language – and _well,_ that was something I didn't often feel.

I huffed, patting my legs with my reacquainted book – addressing Rogers when I spoke. "Well then, it was nice to meet you sir. Thanks for the lacking criticism – I don't think my heart could've taken any from the leader of our country."

He grinned then, looking nothing like his age. He saluted, light-heartedly and I was once again hit with a feeling of shattered expectations – realising from all the old war-time promos and the big legacy he left behind, that I never would've expected the man to be half as soft-spoken as he apparently was now. Man, he probably thought I was one of Stark's fans, on a tour where I'd paid thousands for special treatment. Would make sense, why he was so obliging – even though he could've been plotting my death in his mind.

Still, I bid my farewells to Captain 'My skin-tight shirts will make you feel uncomfortable' Rogers with a yappy smile and a two-fingered salute of my own, turning back to meet Stark, who surprisingly, was stood waiting – uncomfortably mind you, but waiting all the same.

"You look sad when you're not being showered with attention," I said sympathetically and with the slightest hint of 'I'm making fun of you.'

"Gee, thanks kid." He smiled saccharinely. His eyes then wandered to behind my head. Not taking his eyes off of whatever caught his attention, he held a finger out. "Give me a second, would you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he moved past me and my stuttered questions. Wow, if I wanted to be ignored like this, I would've just stayed in my room – _isolation station, as I oft called it._

Despite that, I watched with a confused tilt of the head as Tony had approached Cap. The veteran had such a foreign look on a face that seemed carved solely for justice and good intentions – looking suspicious and sullen, a deep crease in his brow.

I tried and failed to read their whispered hushes from their lips – catching what either could've been an 'I love you,' or was it 'olive juice?' – Both seemed highly unlikely, regardless of how disappointing. It had to be 'elephant shoes.'

 _"Tony, are you outta you're mind?"_ Rogers raised his voice, not as much sharp as it was fierce. _"She's a teenager, isn't she?"_

 _Ah, not elephant-shoes then._

"Yeah, I realised that," Tony bit back, a touch more stilted. Gosh, it was like watching a terrier attempt to face-off a pissed off retriever. Still Stark held his ground. "And she's not from the 30's Steve – she knows how to speak for herself."

Steve turned to me, eyes straining off his ' _friends?'_ face. "Hey kid, Amalia was it? Don't put up with this guy. He's got a power complex – I'm sure you're noticed. I don't know exactly what it is he's trying to drag you into, but I can tell you it's not pretty. You're parents are probably worried for you to get back to 'em – and I suggest you do."

"Steve, I swear to god if you'd stop trying to be everyone's dad for a second–" Tony tightly ground out through clenched teeth, before deflating, his hand going to cup his forehead. When the hand fell and we could see his eyes again, I found that he was looking at me. "I guess it _is_ your call kid. I kinda glossed over asking you. You wanna go home?"

I had to ponder over that. I wouldn't've minded, I suppose. I easily could've slumped over a desk and slept for twenty hours straight right now – if I had a desk and all the time in the world. Instead, just going home and having a cup of tea would do.

But that wasn't what really mattered. It was like Stark said – if I went home right now, there was plenty chance I'd never step foot here again. Chance I'd never be anywhere this important, not for the rest of my life. As cliché as it was, and as much as I despised it, I'd never understand why I was the way I was without _help_.

And here I was thinking I'd rather jump off the Chrysler building and crash-land into a taxi, than ask for help, _ever_. It wasn't exactly my forte.

So I guess I had plenty reason to at least try.

"Well, you've-" I began, looking at Stark and sighing like I was coming to terms. "You've got me intrigued."

* * *

And that was that. Much more anticlimactic than what I'd been picturing.

'Not-Mr. America' was quick to take a step back after I let him know I was just sticking around for a little while longer – even though he almost made me want to do exactly what he'd warned – since I didn't want to run the risk of disappointing him, weirdly enough.

I was back, walking with Stark along these mysterious corridors. We were at quite a pretty site now, a never-ending stretch of hallway, similar to any other if it wasn't for the one side that was pure window instead of wall. On the other side sat an enclosed garden, just rows of blooming cherry blossoms – I mean, kiss kiss, sign me up to live here in Anime-land if I got to wake up to a sight like that every morning. Knowing Stark, he'd probably imported them too. The question was – what for? – he seemed a man for a completely sleek aesthetic. Greys, whites, blacks – why had he decided to throw a splash of pink in there?

"So, who is this mystery person, and why do I so desperately need to meet them?" I finally asked the question of the hour.

"Well, unero problemo is that it's classified until the two minutes till we reach the persons room – can't go about spoiling such a tricky surprise." Stark started, never faltering a step. "And second- well, it's like you're a Bulbasaur right now, kid."

"What does Pokémon have to do with literally anything right now?" I said, promptly giving him a look that was part impressed, with other 90% being _'Grandad please, you're embarrassing me.'_

"Yeah, yeah – I know, the old man knows a popular kiddie game, sue me." He waved away my look like he was tired of my bullshit. "My point is, that the person that I'm hoping'll take a shining to you, just so happens to maybe be able to turn you into a Venosaur."

I raised an eyebrow. "So a trainer?"

"If you want to be literal, yeah. I was thinking, more of a teacher maybe," Stark tried. With those words, we stopped along one of the doors of the hallway – two large mahogany panels that looked more like they were keeping something boarded inside, than acting their purpose.

 _"Magic's never been my strong suit, after all."_

And at that, he opened the doors we'd stopped at.

I took note.

It was a large room – fitting much with what the rest of the place looked like. The walls were a plain white, the floor a light crème. But at the same time, it was like whoever lived here was rebelling – they were embellishments everywhere. From the ceiling hung a few lanterns in varying designs, banners and candles propped up on meticulously placed shelves, warm lights bringing a certain heartiness into the place. There were other things too – a guitar, a viola stand, a globe with push pins stuck into it – but all was forgotten as I peered deeper into the room, trying to get a better look.

There was a woman. And a man?

"Now this – this is who I've been wanting you to meet. Doesn't matter what you end up deciding – I think you and her could really hit it off–" Stark followed my footsteps, he words stalling like a dead battery when he saw the pair. Had he brought us into the wrong room.

"Oh." He bit out. "Yikes." He looked up at the ceiling again. "F.R.I.D.A.Y, call in the cape."

"Why, what's wrong?" I asked, confused. If anything, I just felt properly awkward, breaking in on what seemed like a sweet scene.

The pair was stood at the side of the room like they hadn't even noticed us come in. A girl, much taller than me, with apparently bitchin' style – with hair going down to her back, a couple layers of necklaces wrapped around her neck, and clad in all black save for red touches in her accessories – was stood in front of a boy-man, even taller than her – quite sweet looking, with full grey hair and dressed in jocks garb (sports-gear). The two of them were looking at the other with such a look of amusement, mischief, and genuine love that I actually questioned what in the world could've brought on something like that. My mother was my favourite person, but I couldn't remember ever giving her such a look of contentedness over having her just be there.

It felt a shame to break in – but it seemed it wasn't even up to us.

I actually shrieked this time, when a _red-fucking-elmo-looking_ humanoid just seemed to apparate from the wall. Holy shit, had I done a drug? Had Stark made me smoke a drug of sorts when I wasn't looking?

I couldn't even comprehend what was happening when he started, in a smooth English accent – his attention never once straying from the woman. " _Wanda._ Do you remember what we discussed?"

She hesitated, a crack in the dam of happiness we'd walked in on. It was a fast process that seemed to last a millennium for reasons unknown, but she completely unravelled. Something about those six words seemed to turn her completely miserable.

"I know. I need to stop pretending he's there." She said. It was the first time I had heard a genuinely broken voice. _"I just wanted to see him."_

Then, like I had stumbled into an episode of 'Once Upon a Time' – the kind-looking boy-man started, ever so slightly, losing form. He remained smiling, which made it ever so clear to see, he wasn't really there – like a hologram made of smoke, he flickered, gone before I could blink.

"You did well," The caped red alien said to her after a moment's pause. Turning, he looked to us then. "Mr. Stark." He greeted pleasantly, like it hadn't registered what a sad presence rung in the air – so unlike how a human would act, but honestly, I couldn't tell _what_ he was.

"Hey Jarves," Stark tried, and you could tell from his voice, just how awkward he felt as well.

Unable to stop all the questions, but wanting to avoid the stigma of seeming insensitive, I tugged at the sleeve of Starks jacket. "You wanna start explaining, or should I begin by asking for a vowel?"

 _"Yeah,"_ He drawled on "About that. Um, that is who I wanted you to meet – but it doesn't seem like the best time for 20 questions – just a guess. I'll explain on the way out."

And like that, Stark begun coaxing me by the shoulder – back to the door.

 _But she looked so sad –_ even now. That mysterious girl.

What could prompt that? Who was the man that made her smile with so much purpose?

I didn't move, despite Starks attempts. 'Jarves' didn't go anywhere either – instead, he was staring at me with an odd look. I could register Starks voice, prodding me to go on – but at the same time, I couldn't. I couldn't hear a word. Instead, my eyes were transfixed, met with the yellow pair from halfway across the room. It was like he knew what I felt – my interest in the woman. Knowing eyes, so far from human.

Before I could even begin to shake my head – empty it of the weird energy it possessed, he was there – stood in front of me and Stark. It was just then that I realised how he was actually _hovering_. Now that was something you didn't see every day.

"Mr. Stark, I do believe we should vacate the room," He said evenly, smooth and English like the GPS voice we had in mom's car.

Stark vehemently seemed to agree – shaking his head in accord. "Yeah, I know – like I was just telling Sparky here." He once again tried nudging me, but like a tree, I had promptly stumped myself. I didn't think he could move me if he wanted to.

The floating dude smiled then, a touch too synthetic, but more humany than I could've expected from him.

"It is a relief to see you trust my advice, sir. I hope you extend that when I say that I believe the girl should stay."

 _"What?"_ Stark hissed like it was the maddest thing he'd ever heard. "Absolutely not. Nope. _Could be dangerous."_

"I'll be ok," I blurted.

From all the weird shit that had happened thus far – and I'll admit, having two body-guards show up while I'm doing my job, and meeting Captain America were events at the top of my list – but this took the cake.

What in holy heck was I doing?

I mean, sure, I was inquisitive. Curiosity was a bitch, wasn't it? But I didn't know these people – I didn't know the girl. And she was dangerous? She didn't look it, but I believed Stark all the same.

Yet, there was a small something there. Call it a flicker of something kindred if you would, but shit – I knew I'd seen a look like that before.

It would be an annoying tick at my back – if I never found out.

More confident this time, I reiterated – looking Stark dead in the eye. "Really, I'll be fine."

Stark was clearly bewildered, "You forget, young grasshoper, that this-" his finger jutted to the sky. "- is just a tour. And I thought you wanted to leave anyway."

"Just give me a minute – a single minute and I promise. I just feel like I should. And like you said to the Cap, I can speak for myself."

He was going to try again, but something seemingly stopped him. He looked confused, but for another reason entirely. Christ knows what he could've been thinking, but something in his eyes fizzled. Even though he looked like he didn't entirely want to, he spoke slowly. "One minute. _That's it._ "

"Convenido," I smiled, a glint of mirth in my voice. "Agreed."

With a grudging sigh – like he felt he was responsible for me, Stark walked out with the flying man in tow – with something telling me that he was waiting right outside the door for the first sound of a racket. I was sure this was some kind of an experiment on his part though, where he wanted to see what I'd do.

I suppose it would've been stupid of me to just relax then, two people less equalling more oxygen for me after all – though, a tickle at the back of my neck – a static of sorts – compelled me to stay alert.

Angling my head to the side, I found a pair of white-blue eyes, observing me.

She was staring daggers, and quite suddenly, I felt like a hare – caught under wolfish eyes.

* * *

 **A/N: Duh duh! A cliff-hanger? Isn't that brilliant? Yes, I know, I'm sorry for leaving it at that, but this chapter was getting super long. Everyone cry, there was no Peter in this one :( - but don't despair, I'm sure he'll pop up sooner or later.**

 **I hope you guys liked this chapter – I took an anonymous tip to keep up the vine references after all, so how could I resist. I know it was a bit slow, but introducing some key characters now is something I saw as important – cause that's going to lead to higher stakes during the 'Civil War' era of this shin-dig.**

 **A quick note about Wanda – she may seem out of character for a little bit (more hostile, unstable), but do keep in mind that this would only be a few weeks after Sokovia, with not at all enough time for her to have gotten over Pietro's death, so I wanted to explore on that and see how to help – maybe Amalia might take Tony up on that offer of having Wanda help her figure out her powers. Also for why Amalia doesn't seem to know her or Vision – well, I just figured that they wouldn't be featured on the news because of their 'new' status.**

 **Anyways, that enough talking from me – onto the reviews.**

* * *

 **Don't be shy to leave a review, I read and respond to all of them (like seriously, don't me, I** ** _will_** **add an extra thousand words to get to them all).**

 **I wanna thank** _Pjittrik_ **– thank u for your support, I'm glad I managed to avoid that slippery slope of mary-sueishness, I hope you enjoy all that's to come.**

 _InstantWaterJustAddWater_ – **xD you know I had to – she's a child of the internet, and It'd be a crime against humanity to ignore the memes. I'm glad you enjoy them, and I promise to get at least 3 references each chapter.**

 _akagami hime chan_ – **girl, I love your comments. Like 100%, your notes are what go through my head when I write this. I'm glad you like the note – I was a bit iffy on if I was getting Petey's voice right.**

 _Eirafae_ – **Ah! Excitement! Things! Thankyouverymuch for noticing and liking things, especially the mum-daughter relationship thing (always the funnest thing to write – that's not a word, pls ignore) and yesss with the vine references, I'm glad you and a few others like em. Im so glad you're always hyper, cause that means I maybe doing some things right?IDK? I'm glad to just be writing still, my man. Xoxo– your solid bff-bro person**

 _Spiderbells_ **– Dude, thank you so much for that review – I slapped my knee on multiple occasions reading it. I'm so excited by your interest, and seriously – so honoured that you think the chemistry is neat. I hundred percent agree over normally rolling my eyes at extreme fluff (I say that, even though it's an addiction that I'm attending rehab for – jk, I'm not that far gone) so I'm glad that this shit isn't puke-worthy as of yet. I get your doubts about the powers and stuff, which makes sense since I'm making this up as I go along (since it's mostly just for fun – not smart, I kow), but I hope to resolve that in future chapters.**

 **And finally (sorry this is such a ramble) you got me with the mentoring bit – I was already sort of going along that path, as you probably noticed in this chapter, but I loved the idea of having it be Loki or Thor (when they show up) – it actually inspired me to write a certain scene that'll show up in a few chapters, I hope – so thank you for that. Anywho, I hope to see you leave more lovely reviews in the future – since as u can tell from this winded response, I'd appreciate it.**

 _Guest who spoke about the Groot thing_ – **MY MAn, yes. Wow, it's nice to see some innovative thinking around these parts with those ideas. I'm exaggerating but at the same time I'm not – because I legitimately love the idea of a teenage Groot getting along with a teen Amalia, so thank you for that. I may feature that, if we ever get to the point of them meeting. I most definitely hope to continue with all things cute, so I hope to keep your interests as well.**

 **And that's all folks – I'll be seeing you whenever I try conjuring a potion for some more motivation.**


	5. Chapter 5 - It's An Adult's World

**The Flower Lady & Her Pest**

 **Chapter 5 – It's An Adults World**

* * *

 _"Never be cruel, never be cowardly._

 _Always try, to be nice and never fail to be kind." – The Doctor._

* * *

"Hello?" I questioned, sheepishly. I mean, what else was I supposed to say?

The woman had barely made a sound – not enough to allude to the fact that she had turned around to face me.

The wolf-like appearance might just've been an exaggeration, now that I thought about it – an impression I got from her kohl-ed out eyes – the colour of the iris itself being that of freshly fallen snow. It was only now that I realised, she wasn't looking at me like she wanted to rip my throat out – it was instead, a weary expression. Like that of a trapped animal who just wanted to get back to the wild.

It was a look that made her appear much older than I'm sure she was. She didn't look anything older than a nine-teen year old, maybe eighteen.

She hadn't replied immediately either, but when she finally did, I was surprised to fully hear a sharply lilted, almost Russian accent – her voice previously being too soft for me to have placed.

"Since when has Stark being running a nursery?" She spoke, genuinely questioning yet guarded. "Unless you are _his_ child?"

Well, that wasn't as 'Tom Hardy- freak-outish' as I'd been expecting. Condescending? Most definitely. But it wasn't hateful.

"You're a funny goose," I sputtered a laugh, finding nothing more than humour in the thought – I didn't think a century's worth of time would make me deluded enough to ever see that man in the role of a parent. "I think I'd be dressed better if I had access to that man's funds."

She eyed my ensemble – possibly taking note that every item was something I'd gotten off run-down, thrift stores. Still, she narrowed her eyes, her teeth clenched. "Then pray tell, how and why an infant managed to find her way to my room?"

I frowned at her snark – not offended. People who had their area invaded always lashed out, I was no stranger to that – I'm sure I'd have hissed at her if she'd just randomly showed up in my den. Her demeanour instead just riled me forward, curious to find a root to what was making her feel so hostile.

It wasn't like I was 'fronting' as the kids would say – I wasn't trying to be the Jiminy Cricket to her Pinocchio, asking her to cry on my shoulder while I told her what to do. I didn't know this person, and under no circumstances would I engage with someone I knew nothing about. But this wasn't a normal circumstance, and I wasn't a psychopath either. She looked upset – properly, genuinely upset. I wasn't just going to zoom out the room like a bat out of hell the second stuff got awkward – because I knew that shit hurt.

"No need to show me your claws, henny," I held my hands out, attempting to disarm her tenseness, feeling just as awkward in and of myself. "I just stuck around because you looked distressed and I felt you could need someone to talk to. I know, a crazy thought – but I've watched enough Doctor Phil to play the part." I winced at that, feeling she didn't necessarily appreciate the 'humour' – and to think, this was actually me trying. "Sorry. That probably sounded disingenuous."

The thought almost seemed to spur her along further.

Her eyebrows raised and her posture wound tight. I didn't think it was anything in the words I was saying – but I just so managed to figure out, too late, that anything to her displeasure would've felt overbearing. Her eyes cleared with a sense of harsh finality.

"Well _, little spy_ , you may tell Stark that I have no wishes to share _._ That man will get none of what I think or feel," she bit out.

And with that, I don't think the Queen of England could've faulted me for jumping out've my boots when she took two large steps towards me – nor what followed. Now, I didn't know what she intended to do – if she was going to strike me, or simply walk past me and out the door. I was spooked, that was sure, but I swore I had no control on what had begun to move from behind me.

I heard the vines move more than I saw them, but what I did see was the woman's eyes widen till they looked akin to snow-globes, her movements paused mid-hand-raise. Hesitantly, after a second where her face hadn't moved from the spot, did I dare to breathe in.

 _Now what could send a wolf running with its tail between its legs? What could strike it dumb?_

I craned my head, a beyond-hesitant double-take as I attempted to continue looking at her – while also attempting to see what compelled her so.

 _Oh, you had to be joshing me._

From just behind me, like a pair of hissing pythons ready to strike, were two green vines – struck to the stars with white flowers that kept furling and unfurling. They were Moonflower vines – I knew, from my copy of 'Basilius Besler's Florilegium,' a book that was indeed real, as much as it sounded like something straight out of J.K Rowling's sacred mind – clawing through the window and having grown on the outer wall. It moved through the air around me as if they were sentient, looking almost defensive. They were poised against the woman that stood opposite to me.

 _Were they protecting me? Cause that's rad. And surprisingly useful?_

Another odd little observation I made after a tick – as my heart rate steadied, so did they – even though it took a good minute of feeling secure that she wouldn't do anything.

The rapidity in her eyes quieted into a silent fear.

" _You are with H.y.d.r.a?"_ She questioned, a whisper.

"What?" I blurted in response. Just to be sure, I did a quick self-prognoses and found that no, I indeed didn't have any more than one head – though, many a night have I wished to be a colossal, multi-headed creature. Just for the funsies. Still, that didn't defeat the point that I was indeed; very confused. "No?" I tried.

"Then how?" She looked so bewildered, and I'm sure I did too, before she raised a hand – gently compared to before. In the open air, like magic, did I then see a cloud of red, wispy smoke – like a ninja or some shit. "How are you like me?"

" _Whoa_." I was transfixed, gawking at the sight. _"That is wicked."_

I didn't know what it was, or what it could do, but it felt strong. The light shone in her eyes, and I legitimately thought that if the Salem witches ever did exist – this is what they'd have looked like (minus the pointy hat, and the smell of herbs and cat pee).

"Wicked?" She tilted her head, suddenly insecure.

"No! _No_. Wicked is good." I reaffirmed, having to stop myself from geeking out. I mean, it wasn't every-day you met someone with _actual fucking superpowers_. "It means that I think you're amazing."

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers.

"And I-" She started, with some ease now, standing straight, her eyes wide and full of genuine intrigue. "Never have I met anyone with... With abilities to control. Stark attempts to reason it back to technology – science. Yet, what I have, what Pietro had. It cannot only be a machine that made us."

"Pie- _tro_?" I tried pronouncing the name before I could think. She said the name so familiarly, that it was nothing but intrigue that pushed me to unravel the history of this lady. "Was he the man that you were talking to when we walked in?"

It was like the question forced her back to reality, back into remembering that she was still stood in front of a stranger, seemingly prodding at a very sore spot.

"You still haven't answered my question, little spy." She was back on the offensive, arms held tersely at her sides. "You may be young, but a gifted child is never entirely without someone behind them."

I frowned deeply at that. _Did she seriously think I was here under some mission? Because what messed up connotations – for a kid to be involved in something so cut-throat. Was that what she was?_

 _She certainly spoke as though she had experience._

Still, I held up my hands in surrender, thinking of the holiest entities I could use to prove to her. "I swear on the lives of both the Sprouse twins and on the lovely long futures they deserve, that I am not, even slightly affiliated with anyone other than myself."

Her eyes stayed hooded. "I do not know who those people are; therefore your words mean nothing to me."

 _Great._ Guess I had to pull an Inigo Montoya on her, registering how weird this felt to be doing in the 21st century. Solemnly, I resisted the urge to get on one knee and sharpen a sword, as I spoke. "I swear on the soul of my mother, Isabella Prieto, I am not a phony. Mr. Stark brought me here – to meet you, I'm guessing, so you can imagine how odd this all is for me... For good measure, I give you my word as a Spaniard."

Her gaze faltered. She must've noticed something. A spark of something good and true perhaps. Because, like a glitch that lasted less than a millisecond behind the barrier of glass of a T.V, she had a new look on.

"You are not lying, are you?" She asked with this unplaceable, _open_ expression, a glint of red in her eye, "The look on you when you used your ' _gift'_. You know what it is like. To be afraid of yourself. Of what you can do."

Her words triggered a memory. I thought back to last weekend, _when it happened._ It was under the dark of night, when I stole away into the kitchen and committed a crime most foul. I had downed a whole 30oz's worth of root beer, and alongside that – _a family sized can of Pringles._ All in one evening. What ordinary human did that – _How did I?_ _**I was a monster.**_

Yeah, real funny kid-wonder, but seriously – the words, as freakishly piercing as they were, struck a chord.

It was the reason why I had freaked out in the shop today. My anger and my pain over thoughts of the past _– they had moved the sky_. I didn't have control when it happened – if it happened again, and god forbid, got worse? What would I do then.

"I do. I know." In a quieted voice, I muttered, answering her analysis. I squirmed under her gaze as she remained silent. _"So?"_ I pressed.

"You should go," She said, so abruptly that I thought I'd misheard.

She turned away then, to her bed. Sitting down, her hands tangled in her strawberry locks, her gaze acutely pointed towards the window. She was doing an adamant job of trying not to look my way.

I had to pause too, actually needing to confirm that the whole 'wanting to kill me' bit was over and done with. Had I said something wrong?

That didn't exactly go the way I had planned it, making this all slightly anti-climatic.

I suddenly felt very insecure in the moment, a wash of 'oh _man'_ over-flooding me in a disappointed, lowly voice. I mean, I'd be fine after I recovered from that lil' bout of rejection. I _was_ fine. But who was I kidding? These things happen and you have to say that you're fine and you're not really fine _*dramatic piano intensifies.*_

 _Ugh,_ social rejection was turning me into a dead meme and I was not onboard for that.

Despite my inner struggles, I was becoming increasingly more aware of how I might look, standing where she'd left me – not giving off the usual 'strong and silent' aura I was known for, instead, looking like I'd turned into 'Daria's broker, less witty cousin who just stared at people like a creepazoid.'

"Well, um, good luck then, I guess. With whatever you need luck for," I tumbled over a few of those words, a wave of embarrassment as I could feel my ancestors slow-clapping me towards the door.

Something possessed me to stop and look back at her. What for? I didn't even know I was aware. I frowned at her back.

"I'm sorry," I breathed.

She looked to have caught on to my whisper. It had only been meant for me, a final good-bye to a conversation I had screwed up before I had any chance to convey my thoughts – but how often did those come and go? If that cute guy at the shop last night wasn't any indicator of an encounter that never led to anything, well, all I had to do was look to the many others I had gotten nowhere with. I said goodbye to them all – not a 'talk to you later' or a 'see you soon' – always a definite, final goodbye. Yeah, I was pretty shit at making 'life-long friends.'

I said goodbye to folks all the time. And it usually ended there – but this chick had heard me.

"Sorry for?" She craned her head, not looking at me fully, but like I'd caught her attention.

"Oh you know... pissing you off? Thanks for not cursing me with a shrunken head by the way," I tried.

"You are not a very good liar," She smirked lightly, as if she was Sherlock Holmes's sister from a parallel dimension – highly astute. Her voice was easy, but her words commanding. "Tell me the truth."

"It's just you– I don't want to push..." I tripped on the words. Was she genuinely asking me to reveal thoughts that weren't meant to be shared? It was like walking in the street and looking at a passing person who you thought was a hot box of rocks – and then having to tell said person that you would willingly go white-water rafting for a chance at their number. But she was giving me a look of 'tell me or get out' – so, it looked like I was being backed into a corner here.

I sighed, mumbling my response. _"You seem sad._ It's a shitty thing, being sad by yourself. So I'm sorry you have to feel that way."

I saw a look register on her face before she could hide it. Wide-eyed, like she hadn't been expecting my words. When she spoke, her voice trailed slowly, like her words were unwilling to take flight.

There was a sadness in her eyes – a strike of guilt in me that I had put it there. "You are an odd one, _malá kvetina_."

"My names' Ama, just a quick note. You don't have to call me whatever else," I said, and my voice was laden with some hope. She looked vulnerable now, yes – but she also looked all the more ready to adopt me as one of her own. That may have been overstepping, from a small smile being the only kindness I'd gotten from her, but man did I feel slightly proud for getting that far at least.

This wasn't like meeting Tony Stark, or even Captain-goddamn-America (that _is_ his middle name – I'll legally change it myself if I have to, you can fight me if you don't think like it). I wasn't freaking the frick out. This was just meeting a stranger I knew nothing about, and then seeing their sensitive weak spot ahead of time, so that you're practically skipping the normal steps it would take to earn to see them in that spot _so_ – _basically_ , you can try, but you can't escape the vacuum of awkwardness that you find yourself in.

But it made it feel all the much better when you tried to go off from that – because you didn't already know all that there was about the person.

"And I am Wanda," she said then, blearily. "You should go, Ama."

I didn't know how to feel, leaving one half of the fairly-odd-parents behind – especially when I knew how lonely she looked without a Cosmo or a Timmy to keep her company, but man – it had gotten to a point where I should have realised my place.

Taking one last look of the room around me and thinking of all the missed opportunities where I could've learned the history behind the neat trinkets she had hanging up – I promptly turned towards the door, feeling awfully thieved of a chance at something. It made me wonder why I even tried sometimes – but I paused that thought, knowing that you couldn't force people to confide in you. It just didn't work that way, despite what good things could come out've giving it a shot.

Though I hoped, like the inexperienced, hope-addled child that I was – that I would meet this girl again.

* * *

Steven Grant Rogers was a man that didn't stop to think very much. Not anymore, at least.

Ever since he'd gotten out of the ice, it was like the rest of the world had joined a track team and left him to sit in the dirt. It didn't matter if he had the body of star athlete now, after knowing nothing but weakness his whole life. In front of this world that didn't feel like his own, he was exactly the same. A scrawny punk, stewing in some back-alley, with his head in a trash can. So very far behind where he wanted to be.

It wasn't even just how fast technology had sped up – the buildings like giant metal spikes, something he'd read as fiction, back when he'd just been some no good kid, obsessed with joining the army. _It was the people._

In a world that looked like fantasy, they leapt ahead – like they were on a separate level entirely.

There were such minute, resonating differences Steve would feel, every single time they presented themselves to him. So, so different – he imagined it was like attempting to talk to aliens. Of course, he'd gotten better in the 4 or 5 years he'd been back on his feet, but it still made him feel dated and like a man out of his time – whenever he just didn't click.

If there was a single person that reminded him most of his faults, it had to have been Stark, but that was something Steve would _not_ be telling the man. The billionaire made Steve feel all of his apparent 90 years – as if he was a young greaser, pegging fun at his elderly neighbour.

Steve refocused on the words on the page he'd been 'reading' – realising that his eyes had just been glazed, reading and reading the first paragraph. If you'd have asked him what it was about, he couldn't have told you.

Luckily, he was saved on having to read anything else on the history of his 'great nation' (a thought he was struggling to keep up with, reading about constant war), when Vision entered, phasing through a wall.

" _Vis,_ you know well enough to use a door every now and then," Steve had jumped, his voice a gentle reprimand. "Was it Wanda again?"

"I'm afraid so," He responded coolly, expression sombre. They both acknowledged the sadness that the words described. This was something that happened all too often. "Her psyche is strong – It is only in moments where she is left alone with her thoughts, in which it deteriorates."

Steve looked up at that, one of his fears being realised. He never wanted anyone to feel unneeded.

"Yeah, but she's got us. We're doing our best to treat her like family." His thoughts wavered into a doubt. "You think that's not good enough?"

"I believe..." Vision trailed, his clear eyes projecting doubts for another reason entirely. "I presume that it is. She has not denied our help. Is that not reason enough?"

Steve smiled, because when a hyper-intelligent being with a brain made of software told you that you were doing alright – what choice did he have but to believe him?

"You have a point." Steve gave the being a grin, subconsciously reaffirming the guy that yes, he had said something right, and that he should've been just as happy. He knew what a tough time Vis had, trying to fit in – something the two often had in common. "You don't just trade relationships. It doesn't work like that. Just like we can't replace her brother."

Vision didn't respond, instead looking thoughtfully at his hands. Steve wondered if he could comprehend the thought on his own, or if he could, if he actually felt a certain way about it. Was the robot-person feeling the hopeless frustration Steve often felt when he couldn't just solve an issue with the snap of two fingers? Did he feel the sombreness the came from his actions of staying silent.

It was near impossible to read off his face.

"It was odd still, Stark and his companion were with her. As though he wanted to introduce them," with a confused grimace, Vision had changed the course of their conversation.

Steve grew confused at that, noticing the unsure tone in his team-mates voice. If there were two people in the facility, least likely to ever interact, it was Tony and Wanda.

All Stark had done since Wanda came to stay with them was seemingly ignore her. He acknowledged that she was a part of the team – but had little interest in anything to do with the nineteen year old.

He had built in a garden to try and ease her mind, vivid trees of calming, pink petals – that is, after she had taken out one of the walls after a particularly nasty night terror. She spent afternoons after her training sessions there, often with a guitar in hand. She'd never owned one prior, but would sometimes tell Steve that her da' would strum out little tunes to get her and Pietro to sleep.

Steve didn't doubt that Tony meant to do well – to protect her in his own way – but no one could deny suspicions. He built around her as if she were a project, never really speaking to her.

"He told me," Steve sighed. He'd just had Stark try and explain to him, what it was he was doing. It was often difficult for the two men to see eye to eye – and by difficult, he meant it was more of a 0.0001 percent chance of it ever working out in both of their interests. This was one of those times where it didn't.

The billionaire was skittish – more so than usual. He would zone out, his gaze transfixed upon the wall, which he could look at for hours – before he'd jump, getting up to go dip his elbows in grease as he'd work on his suits like his life depended on it.

He'd briefly mentioned to Pepper, who relayed to Steve for some help, concerned that it was a fear all the Avengers shared – that he felt something was coming.

A threat of sorts.

Of course, Steve thought that the man may have been troubled – but that it was nothing more. He could sympathise, he had to admit. What the war in New York was for Tony, was what war in the 40's had been for Steve. It was hard not to always feel it still – that he'd need to be up and arms at the drop of a hat. That everything he had grown to care for once again could be lost before he had a chance to draw his shield.

But that didn't justify him trying to involve kids.

Stark had been scouring the globe for people like them, revealing to almost no one other than Fury of his findings. Steve felt undervalued when he'd be brushed aside, at times where he wanted to know what they were up to – regardless of his pushing to try and gather intel. The two conspirators kept their secrets from him, but steps like these were proof enough.

Steve knew that, regardless of what teammates cared about, he had a responsibility to make sure that no one got hurt because of Stark and his baseless fears. No civilian, let alone _a kid,_ had to be turned into a soldier if they didn't need to – explaining why Steve was so persistent about wanting Wanda to be a kid for as long as possible, to make her feel like she did in fact, belong.

Steve uncrossed his arms, rubbing the crease out of his brow. He looked back to Vision, who was staring intently at the wall, as though he could see through it. Vision, back when he'd been Jarvis, existed in both Shield and Stark Databases – Steve thought. _A question or two couldn't hurt._

"Why do you think Tony's doing this?" Steve asked in earnest, no longer unnerved by the fact that Vision never sat, even in company, if he was allowed the chance to stand or hover.

"You're asking for my opinion?" He asked, and Steve must've imagined the slight grin in it, as though the Captain's question was pointed at the wrong person. "That is indeed a relatively human concept."

"Yeah, well humour me," Steve tried to reason. "You know him better than a lot of us."

Vision paused, calibrating or thinking to avoid the act of stuttering, Steve couldn't tell.

"I was born to specialise in machines like myself. Not in matters of the heart," Vision claimed softly, his eyes trained on the gentle flexing of his own fingers. He looked back at the veteran. "But I would say that I'm no longer as limited."

"As you should be," Steve smiled, a genuine happiness for the guy making itself shown. If anyone could get it, it was Steve who understood what it felt like to change – to grow into a practically new person. He caught sight of himself at eighteen then, in his first days of attempting to get enlisted – how bitter and angry he was with the world. He much preferred who he was now – not America's golden boy, but someone who had learned to let a lot of that rage go. "Life's worth a lot more when you can feel it. It would be a waste – keeping yourself from it."

Vision smiled at that, far warmer than what Steve swore to have ever seen prior.

"I believe you're right, Captain Rogers."

A third voice, right then and there, decided to enter the fray.

" _What are you two bozos up to?"_

Both heads turned to meet the familiar face. Neither had to think long or hard over who it was before they glanced.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt the bonding sesh. I just wish Pepper looked at me the way you two look at each other." Stark smirked at the peeved faces of his comrades, highly amused, as usual of course.

"You're hilarious, Tony," Steve gave him a look of regal pissed-off-ness. "How did your little science experiment go?"

"Oh, it went swimmingly," Tony smiled facetiously, "Kiddo got out without a scratch, so we can say that Sabrina the teenage witch seems to be doing much better with her people skills."

Steve fixed Tony with a stern look. "Leave her alone, man. She's got a lot to get over, and it doesn't help when you keep playing the part of disappointed uncle."

"Hey, I'm not the bad guy here. You and I both know how much help she'd be if she didn't want to kill everyone she thinks is sketchy – and by that I mean; anyone but you and Martian Manhunter's tanner cousin here," Tony pointed to Vis, who stood statuesquely, listening with interest. It was a clear theme now, that the 'little witch' preferred the company of Vision and Rogers before she did anyone else – like some kind of a pissed off cat that only liked two people.

Tony sighed, remembering that he had more important things to do than stew over how the girl was doing. He didn't really feel the need to piss Steve off right now, as rare as that was for him. "Anyway, that's not what I came here for. Just wanted to let ya' know that she's fine."

Steve nodded in affirmation, already letting go of his previous annoyance due to the hint of care in Tony's voice. He knew the man cared for all their health, more than anyone of them, but it was easy to forget when he kept going to such lengths to show the opposite.

When nothing else was said, Tony waved his hand between the Captain and Vision, making kissy faces and motioning for them to go back to what they were doing – before he turned on his heel, his fast mind already onto bigger things.

Events had gone a whole lot smoother than he expected them to. The kid left the room unscathed, quieter and less doped up on sass than when she went in. She walked with him, her mind occupied. He kept waiting on her to speak – and he'd be lying if he said it didn't stress him out – worry being something he hated the feeling of.

When he finally cajoled her for a response, a naturally posed 'How did it go?' all she answered with was a question. She had wanted to know who 'the silver-haired man' was.

Stark had never seen the point in making unnecessary lies up. He'd seen Pep do it with her nieces and nephews when they'd gone to visit her family – distract the kids from serious topics to keep them happy – like the time their pet goldfish had died, and she just told them it was taking a nap. It wasn't like Tony didn't like lying – if anything, he was a natural at it himself – he supposed he just found it boring. Boring and condescending to whoever was being lied to. He'd had enough of that with his own father. He knew the awful burn that came from being spoken to like you were a piece of gum on someone's boot.

So he told her. He felt awkward doing it, but he did. The twins weren't a topic he ventured close to. The last remaining sibling either, ever since Ultron – since the vision she'd shown him – he stayed away when he could. He didn't hate her for it, felt bad for what she'd lost too – but like his father before him, he stayed away from anything that could knick his weaknesses in.

He briefly recounted the story of the Sokovian boy, Pietro Maximoff, and his sister who they classified as "Enhanced" – and how they had each undergone a number of tests where they were exposed to alien energy; where out of all of the test subjects, only the Maximoffs survived. He told her about H.Y.D.R.A and how they were involved with the twins. Tony then watched her face morph into shock when he told her about how the boy was gunned down, trying to save one of the billionaire's good friends.

Before he knew it, they had walked back to where they started, and the girl looked like she had connected some dots with what she heard and what she had seen in that room.

Speaking of the kid, she was currently back to her normal self (after her bit of closure), trying to press F.R.I.D.A.Y into talking. Tony could barely hear what it was that she was speaking up at the wall with, reverently, as if she was trying to talk to God himself. Of course, her voice wasn't recognised by the system, and neither did she know the softwares name – so no amount of begging would get the walls to speak back.

"Alexa, please, I'm sad. Put on a bop. Just for me?" She tried, a darn good act at faking desperation. Sighing after a moment's silence, she crossly turned away. "Siri would never treat me this way."

 _What in the world?_

And here he thought he was in on the kid's lingo – what _the youths_ went around saying.

She was an odd addition – and Tony Stark very rarely went around doubting his choices. Nobody could deny how out-of-place she would look, amongst the rest of them that is. She was this 5' 3, duckling in dress, backed up into a room full of lions. He didn't doubt the fact that she _could_ be strong – but it was a gamble. Wanda was only a few years older, but it had taken months for H.Y.D.R.A to get her to working order – using methods that could break any tiny animal's neck, baby duckies included.

 _Well, we're not going down that route are we?_ Tony thought. He'd promised her mom, when after years and years of being the most stubborn woman Tony had met, after Pepper of course, did she finally relent into asking for his help. Even Bella knew that her girl couldn't keep those powers down forever. He needed to be smart – figuring out how to fix it.

It was like filling balloon with water. You let it fill, you watch the water rise, you feel the rubber sides stretch thinner and thinner, you know when to turn the sink off. But what if you couldn't let it stop? If you let it keep going – well, it didn't take a rocket scientist. In the end, you'd be left without a balloon.

She needed to learn how to use those powers, and use them well – otherwise, well, Stark wasn't the only one fearing the consequences.

Fear? _God._ He was really in over his head.

He sighed largely, inwardly. He could make himself up to be some kind of saint in his mind, sure. But for how long? Was he just going to tell everyone who asked – that he was helping her from the goodness of his heart.

He saw the dreams he had in painstaking detail. It was there in his mind every time he closed his eyes.

' _You could've saved us,'_ a voice rasped in Tony's ear. Steve, it was Steve. And he was dying. Red ooze sputtering, _gurgling_ through his vocal chords. He was laying at the bottom of a pile of all the people Tony cared about – all of them beaten to a pulp.

' _You could've done more.'_

Tony winced, static blaring in his head.

He had to make sure it never happened. He had too. So that whatever he saw when his eyes were shut, never ever filtered into what he saw when they were open. It was all on him.

He shook his head.

Steve was alive, the man was right in front of him. The blonde had gone back to his chat with Vision.

Mr. Sparks and Banners was doing just fine. The red-caped crusader too, beside him – completely alive. All the avengers, all his friends, all of them were alive. He just had to make sure it stayed that way.

He didn't want to see the kid get hurt. But if she stuck around, if she got strong enough to cover his back while he was kicking ass, and vice versa he imagined, well – the world would have hell of a lot more of a fighting chance from whatever was strong enough to hurt them that way.

"So, young grasshopper, now that this adventure's nearing an end – do we have any questions?" Tony asked, after sauntering over, his thoughts distracting him more than usual.

"Just a few. You wanted me here to meet that lady right? Because of her powers?" She asked rhetorically, apparently wasting no time at all. Like a hyper-active puppy, she had gone back to pressing him for questions. "But you called her magic. Is that what I am? Am I a magic-man?"

"I told you earlier, kid. We're not calling it magic, per se. It's science, her powers came about from science – energy drawn from a powerful stone, is all." Tony waved it off. "We've got theories, and we think that you're the same. Don't know if it's a stone for you though – so we're drawing a blank for the time being."

" _Lame._ I could still definitely be Pamona Sprout's long lost granddaughter from an alternate universe – and if I am, there is nothing in this world that can stop me from making friends with a Bowtruckle," she said, passionate.

Tony paused for a quick second – his way of expressing bemusement. "From all I know, everything you just said might've been me having a stroke. Don't take it personally kid, but you make no sense 60 percent of the time."

"None taken," She said, resigned and like she got that response often.

They stood for a second, her with her eyes turned to look out at the large panel of the wall that was just window. The base was slightly farther away from the big city, and so – as a result, the sky was freed from its usual haze of grey, stars and freckles of constellations freely on display. She was staring at it as if she didn't want to tell him she enjoyed looking at it very much – a repressed look of control on her otherwise excited face.

Stark thought it was adorable and unnecessary. He didn't want to be the one to put people off from being themselves, even though he had been told on occasion that his presence intimidated people. But he suppose he understood, she barely knew him – more so than when they'd met (a large step up from her straight up trying to murder him), but still, the thought rang true.

"So, what do you say?" He broke the silence, "An honorary Stark internship – the best in the business."

"That might just look pretty damn good on my resume," she pronounced thoughtfully. Then, after a second, she leaned in and whispered, " _I don't even have a resume_."

 _Good place to start,_ she thought as hesnorted. Despite that, this was a choice, she considered.

She vaguely knew what for, but even so, she never was very good at picking up hints and reading vague signs. She knew that Tony wanted her involved in his whole operation, or whatever it was – not to be an Avenger, she didn't think, because she knew well enough she didn't have the guts for that. No, he wanted her for her powers, to be around because she might have potential. And to do that, he'd help her out with learning how to grow – this was a training facility after all.

She knew that this determined if she would join something bigger than anything she had ever known, or if she'd fade back into the shadows – a nameless face that didn't know Tony Stark, or Steve Rogers – a hapless nobody, once again. There were pros and cons that came with both options – and once she weighted them, one point convinced her to make her mind up.

"Nah," she said finally.

He gave her a look, not yet registering her denial. "Excuse me?"

"You've earned my respects Stark," She began, turning to the man and looking at him straight on. "I like this place. It was cool to have a look-see around. I liked talking to Wanda, and meeting Captain Rogers. Oh! and your friend, Mr. Rhodes."

She shook her head, smiling a small smile. Her words were tiny in the large, expensive room, but the truth with which she spoke could've melted the gold coated adornments until they were nothing but char.

"But, I don't want to hurt anybody. Like honestly, I've got the backbone of mollusc, I don't think I physically could. I know that sounds wimpy, to someone who literally carried a nuclear rocket through a space-hole, but I won't. To see yourself, standing there, having taken away a person's whole world, years that they could still live. And to take them away from people who cared about them. I could never."

With those words, she turned back to the window.

Tony made a noise, caught between a laugh and an expression similar to shock. Some would call it amazement. To him however, he could justly say there were very few times in his life he felt it could apply – who knew that one of those rare occasions could be from the words of someone not even half his age? Someone who was so much younger than him, and yet, when he had taken on the job of dealing in death – he never came across the slightest hint of having such a mindset. They called him the 'Merchant of Death' and he'd never blinked an eye. He'd gotten far less apathetic in recent years, sure, but he still did what he had to. He would still kill if it meant preventing something that took out millions more.

"And that's fine." He responded, and he swore it wasn't the confident voice he heard day in and day out. He probably meant his words, despite the contradictions. It's a funny thing, when even a warrior admits to war being a waste. He scratched the back of his head. "Jeez kid, if most people thought that way – well, you wouldn't even need to have been standing here today. This place wouldn't've existed."

"Too bad the universe is filled with ass-clowns," She breathed glumly, seeming very much her age.

"You're right. It is too bad." Tony agreed, regaining his will. "But despite that, as much as it sucks to believe, there are things out there that won't care about what you want. I've seen them, kid. And we're all this worlds got, believe it or not. I won't force you into being a superhero – I didn't intend on it in the first place – but to answer the phone when bad guys come a-knockin' – well, the world could really use all of us."

She looked at him, surprise registering. "And you really think I can make a difference."

Tony smiled, more to himself than anyone in the room. He could hear the sounds of cars and machinery operating outside on the compound, steady twanks and thrums and hums. He could hear Cap and Vision chatting in the room over, two steady, intellectual voices. He could hear the world around him – the stillness of it. He knew then, for some reason. He was such a fast thinker, a fast talker, that moments like this rendered him unable to think of some witty one-liner.

"Without a doubt," he answered, not needing reason. Her eyes shone with an emotion then, he couldn't tell if it was pride. She seemed to look to herself with the assurance his words conveyed.

He clapped his hands sharply then, the loudness ringing in the air.

"That is, _If_ you train! I mean, c'mon kid – could you even take on Jar Jar Binks with what you've got now? You're like a piece of string cheese."

"You A- Excuse you!" She started, her words catching, rightfully so. She shot him a dirty look. "My cat was right about you, I should've known. She whispered things into my ear as I slept – most of them about you secretly being a trash-talking tool. My cat's words, of course. You got a problem, you take it to her gossipy ass."

He snorted, rolling his eyes at her feigned innocence. The fact that she hadn't disagreed with his words alluded to another truth – he felt like she was beginning to see things from his side.

"Will do, flower-child. And on that note, I think you should head back now. I asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to send you mom a basket of goodies and a note – just so she doesn't throw you off the balcony when you get back."

"Thanks. Unknowingly, you saved my life with that. But I guess it was on you since she wouldn't even be mad if you didn't bring me here," Amalia trailed off – smiling in earnest then. She tucked her hair back. "Thanks Tony, for that, for giving me a chance, I guess."

He returned the smile, knowing that, in some way, the two of them had reached an agreement. "And thank you kid, for the same."

* * *

 **A/N: Hey there Marvelites! (Is there even a name for this fandom or did I just hallucinate that?) It's been a hot second since last time – but please do keep in mind that I'm going through exams in a month from now, and important university stuff after that (I'm going to school for art and need to make a folio, so that's a big step away from writing). All that work and such little time that I'm not sure how often I can update :(**

 **But to start talking about this chapter – I know okay, NO PETER? WHAT A TRAGEDY (Please shut that door) – but yeah, whoops. He didn't fit into this chapter, and I wanted the story to progress with emotional depth in all facets of where you'll see it go. This is a good point to mention that I have a vague idea of where I want this story to go, but little idea on what relationships will form on the way there. So you can say that makes things exciting? Or terrifyingly unorganised – either way goes.**

 **Anywho, as relationships go, you can probably tell from attentions given to both Steve and Tony that I adore all the avengers in equal amounts – this might make things extra saucy in how Amalia approaches things too. I'm trying to zoom in on and nail the emotional sides to all introduced characters – and yeah, they're not all going to become friends in one chapter either, so give it some time.**

 **I really, really hope the switches from first person to third person aren't too confusing (since I'm being a greedy nerf-herder and trying to get all I can – where I can). I've found, especially from my other story on this site, that first-person is good at making you like the OC (writing in vine references and all those zesty memes too), but limits scope on a vast range of other people.**

 **Besides that, don't forget to ask questions on areas you might be confused about, cause I will always answer at the end of each chapter – so let's get into that now.**

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 **Now's our annual review-reading portion of the month – which you can join too! (Don't be shy, I appreciate all notes of concern and appreciation – if you have any suggestions on where you want the story to go too).**

 _ **Monkeybaby –**_ **Thanks for the support deary :)**

 _ **akagami hime chan –**_ **Oh man, I am so glad not to be the only one to get really irrationally sad when Pietro died, idk – also, it's not out of self-interest that I meant to amplify on something that wasn't given much attention to in the movies (as not a lot of people seem to care about the guy's death), but I was always drawn to the more human side of things and would like to expose those moments more in these chapters. ++ This is emotion central, so express all you like. I'm glad you liked moments with Tony & Steve too *thumbs up.***

 **Eirafae – Whoo boy, I'm glad you liked it, I hope you got some zzz's too. The scene with Pietro went exactly how I planned, so it seems *Insert evil laugh*. Also, about Tony – I def see how people don't like him at times (he can be a tremendous douche), but he is one of my favourites, so yeah – a very love/hate relationship I hope to bring up. I'm happy you liked Steve too :)**

 _ **Guest –**_ **Hey there stranger, thanks for the nice words! In the story right now, Tony hasn't discovered Peter as of yet – in the first chapter, I think I added a note where he says that he has a lecture at a university in a week's time (in the civil war movie, this lecture signals the start to conflict, because a woman tells Tony about how her son was murdered in Sokovia, thus the accords are created – and Tony meets Pete half way through the movie, I think – when he shows up at his house). I hope that answers the question and gives you a look at the timeline – I hope you keep reading as I try and make sense of it all :)**

 **Spiderbells –** **Oh man, you're reviews are legitimately such a hoot – they're just cover all the bases and are so nice to read? But yes – I'm happy as hell that Ama's character isn't a bore, and that if you connect, many other teens/young adults/whoever across the world can too.**

 **This story is indeed just after AoU, and a week or so before CW (timeline mentioned in prev. review) so tensions are most def. on the rise. I've got a pretty straight idea of how Ama's going to be involved, but am trying to keep it vague and un-guessable right now (the whole side vs. side thing). I don't know if it's appreciated or not, but despite her pessimistic views, she's a pacifist for the most part – or at least seems to be that way as mentioned in this chap. I think it makes sense for her still being a kid, and I attempted to show Tony's opinion on that too – and how he agrees, but see's that it's a necessity to know how to fight (esp. for what comes in Infinity War and his nightmares).**

 **Idk about the superhero name's bit at the moment, since I'm lazy and haven't thought that far. I rlly enjoy the route you've described too, and would love to portray a twist on the 'I've got to save everyone' mindset that Petey has – maybe going for a 'I'll save you, but I won't be happy doing it' option with Amalia, where she's just constantly exasperated by responsibilities of doing that stuff, but seeing the reason to do it anyway. Dang, this has gotten long, but thanks for giving me so much to touch on – I really enjoy your reviews, and hope that I don't fail to meet expectations any time soon.**

 _ **Sam –**_ **Hey Sam, nice to see you back! I'm glad that you're intrigued for the story – and I hope that this chapter has helped solve some of the confusing bits. This topic has been covered in the movies – where Tony, ever since Wanda showed him a vision of the dead avengers in AoU, has nightmares about a large threat in the future (he says this to Thanos in Infinity War too). I thought that I could take this idea and say that his paranoia is what is pushing him to recruit as many 'gifted' people as he can – like a discount professor X who's acting out of necessity. I figured it would be Tony to recruit her, because he isn't (apparently) busy for a large between AoU and Civil War – he also does the same to Peter when the time comes, after all.**

 **I intend of showing a flashback of how Amalia's mom knows Tony and what their whole situation is – since it's pretty vague right now, so hold on till then. Also, I guess that Amalia could do the whole 'end world hunger' bit, and I will include bits of it – but I probs won't include too much, since it takes away from the main story, so I'm sorry if you were interested in that route.**

 **Finally, I really want to update 'Will we meet again' too – and promise to never abandon it (If I ever do, just assume that I'm dead or something) – but with my exams coming up and a whole lot of other stuff going on – I find it easier to write on this story, just to de-stress – as WWMA takes a lot of thinking and dedication to try and write well. I hope to update when I'm free, and I'm really sorry to throw you out of it, since you seem invested in that story (trust me, I know how much it sucks when an author doesn't continue what they've started). But until then, I hope that you can be patient with me, thanks!**

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 **Anyway, that ends this chapter, I hope you guys liked it, and hope you can wait until I'm free enough to update regularly again. Later!  
**


	6. Chapter 6 - Back to Hell

**The Flower Lady & Her Pest**

 **Chapter 6. Back to hell.**

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"Education is not preparation for life; education is life itself."

– _Some Chump._

* * *

 _"_ _You've got your back-pack?"_

"Yup."

"Your keys?"

"Double Yep."

"Heart Palpitations?"

I sighed. "Would it be the first day of school without them?"

She laughed like an evil Disney queen. "No, I suppose not."

Mom was pacing around the house like a gazelle with a lion hot on its trail, checking on this and that – making sure I had lunch for when I got back, reminding me to feed our stubborn mule of a cat before she starved to death out in the wilderness – the works, really. This was common enough for the first day of the first term back at hell, mom would panic for no good reason, and I'd try to fight off any homicidal urges and not go into a murderous rampage.

I was sat there with a bowl of cereal – the mound of cereal to milk ratio going down with each bite, as I cringed at what would come when all the bits were gone. What had the world come to when a child was reduced to eating breakfast food stressfully? What could cause such an atrocity?

 _Community High School_. That would do it. The place to go for anyone looking to get served a healthy dose of panic attack at seven in the morning.

School was, for the majority, a sucky place I wanted nothing to do with – yet, for the preservation of the running commentary in my mind to stay at max levels of sarcasm, I had to put up with. The art program too, though definitely funded by the loose wad of two dollar bills and stray bits of candy you'd find in your pocket, was much better than the single sheets of paper and graphite I had on hand at home. I was far too broke to ever get that expensive stuff for myself.

I heard the birds chirp outside the window, two house finches nestled outside the windowpane, on the ledge of the metal walkway – their sounds really indicating that it was indeed, much earlier in the morning than I'd like it to be.

 _Well tweekle tweekle to you too, you winged rodents._ Go back to whatever Disney movie you just so happened to apparate from. I scoffed, finding a way to hate literally everything right now.

"Ama," Mom snapped her finger. "I know you're half-dead right now, but listen to me when I'm giving you life-saving advice."

 _"_ _Wha?"_ I froze, my spoon hanging limply from my mouth.

"This–" She held up a conspicuous black bottle, "–is for emergencies and emergencies only."

I reeled back, my lips crooking into a disbelieving smile. "Have you lost your _mind_ , mother of mine?" My eyes were the size of saucers, I'm sure. "I don't need a bottle of mace! I take the bus and the school is literally four blocks away!''

"Yes, and I'm not taking any chances!" She replied smoothly, tucking the canister into my bag's secret compartment and walking over to me. She crossed her arms, a sense of worry clouding her eyes. "I'm telling you _baby_ _,_ _ever since that_ _Bobalicón_ Stark took you away like that – I don't know how to feel about you being on your own."

I winced at that, seeing how everything was beginning to make sense.

A week had passed since my escapade into what felt like a Sci-Fi Fantasy – a trip to the Avenger Headquarters. It had been nerve wracking, that was for sure, but nothing had struck me with more fear than the sight of my mother in the doorway when Happy had driven me back – her eyes livid, her hands clutching the life out of an overly expensive looking assortment of roses Tony must've sent her.

Oh if only he'd known how he done messed up. You never send a florist the most cliché flower in the world, unless you wanted to piss her off even worse. _Amateur_.

I had done my best to explain to her then, exactly what had happened – as well as what I could guess Stark wanted from me. I hadn't seen her that worried in a long time.

I didn't know why, but something in her was so very vehement about me not having anything to do with them. I knew that every mom was protective, but this was something else.

When I had met the superheroes, it all seemed so comfy and nice. They felt like a family in and of themselves. Even though I knew the histories that came with the notable characters, I didn't see how they could have wanted to hurt me. But my mom was my mom – and if she was worried, how could I not be?

My gaze softened and I wondered what it would take to show her I was my own person now. That I wasn't an airhead, little girl that went looking for trouble.

I looked down at my lap. "I'm telling you, Ma. I can take care of myself."

"And I know just as well that you can," She tried, wincing, her tan face looking pale without the normal amount of makeup she took a good thirty minutes to apply. "Think that it's for me, okay? For my own peace of mind. I bet you nothing bad even happens."

I sighed, not really getting the answer I was looking for.

"Well yeah, I was already thinking that, but thank you for the new level of paranoia," I said with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

She lightly slapped my arm, a mischievous smirk on her face. "Come now, you know how intense I get when I'm worried."

"Sí, sí," I agreed along with her as I gulped down my last bite. "And on that note…"

I got up from my spot, anxiously patting down the outfit I had on – soccer-mom shoes and black jeans, under an oversized yellow sweater that probably belonged to some middle-aged mother once. It was old and baggy, but I had stitched in this cute patch of a daisy into the centre, so it didn't matter if people thought I looked garbage-y. I liked it.

And with those motivational thoughts fit to go on a wall, I was already blurring through what I had to do. I smooched my mom once on the cheek and had nothing else to do but walk out the door.

 _If the gods were good to me, maybe I could slip by this day without a migraine awaiting me at the finish line._

* * *

Isabella watched her girl go, the bittersweet feeling of watching her kid grow and become independent being something only a mom could understand.

Except that this wasn't the regular anxiety one would feel upon seeing their baby go off to tackle the world – this _fear_ was completely founded in reality.

It had been entirely too easy.

Stark had just plucked her right off the streets. No one had batted an eye, and Bella would've remained just as much in the dark if it hadn't been for Ms. Bradford – her shaky voice over the phone warning the mother.

The older Amalia got, and the longer things went in the perfect, easy way they had been going – the more suspicious everything seemed.

This was how Bella had felt when they first got off that plane.

Everything had been grey and blue, wind and rain shrouding everything the eye could see. Was it unsafe? Yes, to the ordinary aircraft, she supposed, but their plane had been specially sent to pick up the young mother and child. And you wouldn't just send any old cruiser to cross countries in such weather, would you?

It had been a good ten years since that day.

 _Her daughter had been screaming, muffled into the fabric of her mother's dress._ _She was so small then, but her weight in her mother's arms was something Bella could never forget._

 _The wind that day had smelt like petrichor and old fabric – the slightest twinge of smoke. It's funny that ordinary things, something as simple as a scent, can stick out so clearly when they're linked to important things._

 _Bella was still so young – too young, most would say, to have a five year old child already. She was sat, trying to console her panicked child – a difficult task as she tried to stay strapped in to her seat through the turbulence. The thunder was something Ama feared, and Bella had to admit, the sounds were ominous as they reverberated around them in that small metal carrier._

 _She didn't know what she'd signed them up to. In a way, she already regretted it._

 _They had approached her – these men in their fancy suits, and it had surprised her greatly. She had only seen such well-dressed people in her foreign magazines and on the television. You wouldn't dress like that in her town – not unless you were putting yourself out there to be mugged._

 _They had set their terms out – short and simple. They knew about Amalia's gifts, and Bella already knew she didn't have the power to stop them if they wanted to hurt her because of it. Apparently, they had sources all over the world, monitoring these kinds of things – looking for people like Ama. What they wanted with them, with Ama, Bella didn't know._

 _They claimed not to be hostile. They offered the mother and her daughter a way out. Said they represented an organisation called S.H.I.E.L.D._

 _A catchy name – perhaps it was a subconscious manipulation. A false sense of protection._

 _She had thought she was greedy. If only Bella had waited. If only she had taken on more jobs to make more money. If she'd done that – well, maybe she could have saved up enough money on her own to get them out of that city, out of that country on their own – without the need of assistance._

 _But then came these men, like these pristine creatures from the clouds, offering to get them out for free. They wanted to help them, not hurt them. How could she have refused?_

 _So, there she was. A young woman and a young, sleeping child without a thing to their names, boarded on a plane they didn't know the destination to._

 _Just as Bella began to feel tension build in her ears and a sick, airy feeling gather in the pit of her stomach, did she realise they were close._

 _"We've reached the mainland," A crew member with a gravelly voice informed her. "We land soon."_

 _"That's good to know," The mother replied. An air of uncertainty was clear in her tone._

 _The crew member, an older soldier of sorts, laughed slightly at that. The drawl of their fully rounded American accents was still new to Bella's ears._

 _"Don't you worry ma'am," He said kindly. "The boss will be there at the end of the landing strip to meet you. I'm sure he intends to make you feel as comfortable as you can be in this rain."_

 _Bella nodded, her nerves only growing worse at that. "It's not the rain I'm worried about."_

 _The carrier dipped in altitude, forcing a series of rumbles that stirred Amalia awake from her tired nap. Both girls were holding onto each other for dear life as they hit the ground, watching then as all the crew members sprang to life like it was routine. Like a well-oiled machine, they got to work, lowering the hatch to the plan. Bella and Ama were unclasped from their seats, only to immediately be ushered out by the same kind soldier from before. He carried the two small suitcases, owned by the girls, walking them down the sloped opening._

 _Hand in hand, Amalia and Isabella Prieto stepped their feet upon new soil, and the change was dizzying; the immediate feeling of it all._

 _They would have stopped to savour it if it wasn't for the two figures that stood there, having anticipated their arrival. Both were dressed to stand out in midst of all the black-cladded soldiers in uniform. One, a bald man with an eye-patch, his gaze lowered yet imposing – stood with his arms behind his back, dressed in a floor-length, black trench-coat. The other, stood in a suit – fancy, but with just a bit too much razzle-dazzle to his character. His jacket had an underlying shade of indigo to it, and his accessories were purposeful – rose-coloured sun glasses despite the gloomy weather, and gelled hair to fit any formal occasion. The fancier man looked like he could list a whole ten other places he'd rather be, but the annoyance in his face seemed to retreat when he met eyes with her._

 _Bella's eyes switched back and forth between the two, completely intimidated on the inside. Her outer image however, remained intact and confident, even when the fancier of the two men stepped forward._

 _"Pleased to meet your acquaintance," one of the men extended a hand to shake, administering a charming smile to his relatively handsome face. "The name's Stark. But the ladies always call me Tony. You, of course, have the honour as well."_

 _Isabella shook his hand firmly, business-like, her smile tight. "You must rarely be referred to by your first name then, Mr. Stark."_

 _His own smile momentarily fell, but one moment to straighten his posture brought his ego back up._

 _"_ _Not as often as you seem to think, but I'm open to making an exception for you," He brushed it away flirtatiously, but lightly, like this kind of speech was more of a game to see how she'd tick than anything else. "Anyway, we're glad to see you made it one piece. That storm was a real piece of work."_

 _"_ _It was," Bella agreed, noticing the slumped shoulders of her small child – the slight yawns and droopy head as well. Leaning down, the mom picked up and held the tired five year old before she collapsed to the ground. She looked back at Stark. "But we appreciate it. I don't think we could've afforded refusing your offer."_

 _"_ _Well, we're glad that you agreed," Stark smiled – a touch more genuine and awkward for a reason Bella couldn't place. He then nodded to the small child. "Cute kid."_

 _Bella raised an eyebrow at that. It was a shock from the man that looked the type to detest all children. She held onto her daughter's smaller hand and shook it slightly. "Ama, say hello."_

 _She raised open a heavy eyelid, and shyly answered in that babbling voice of hers'. "hello, shiny man."_

 _The man chuckled once, but the other stranger remained stone-faced, still yet to speak._

 _Only when his utter stillness caught Bella's attention did she finally meet his gaze._

 _"_ _Everything's been taken care for you," He said finally, in a voice lower than Starks, yet possessing more of an ability to demand attention. "My name is Nick Fury. I'm the head of this operation, Ms. Prieto."_

 _"_ _Ah, so I have you to thank I suppose," She said, straightening her back to appear well-versed in professional discourse. She chose then to let her suspicions slip. "Though I must let you know, Director, that I am wary."_

 _He raised his single visible brow. "Why ever so?" He questioned, looking quite like he already knew why._

 _"_ _Because, well…" She faltered at his complete confidence. It was like the entire airplane hangar was shrinking under the weight of his easy power over the situation. Stark had retreated, she saw, looking like it pained him to not be the centerpiece of this interaction, but also like he was under instructions on not to act like the extreme extrovert Bella assumed he was._

 _She cleared her throat, steeling herself. She had dealt with worse than a man like this – a man who had given her no real reason to be afraid of him._

 _"_ _I doubt you aided us out of the goodness of your heart. Your men informed me that you were interested in my daughter and her abilities," she said finally, laying her real thoughts out._

 _He chuckled then, good-naturedly, and she would have believed it to be real if it wasn't for the absence of crinkles in his eye. He was all business then, she concluded._

 _"_ _Then you would be correct in your deductions, Ms. Prieto," He said in straightforward tone, "I work under a set of rules to assure favorable outcomes. For me and my cause. Where I would like to save every unfortunate family to come from war-town countries, such as yourselves – I cannot act outside of what I believe will truly aid us. Aid our collective future."_

 _She gulped. Despite her preconditioned opinions of the man being a self-interested mastermind for some evil corporation, she couldn't help the small bubble of belief she felt at his words. She did believe he would want to help people like them, and therefore she could not say whether he was entirely a bad man. But then again, he acknowledged the prices that came with such actions._

 _She got all that – she had stopped believing there were any selfless people left alive. But this stuff was involving the one person she had left to live for. Therefore, Fury was making this personal – she couldn't give a rat's ass about his cause if he stepped over the line._

 _"_ _And what does my daughter have anything to do with 'your cause'?" She asked lowly._

 _"_ _She is… a prospect, you could say," He answered after a pause. "I have plans for the survival of this planet, Ms. Prieto, and guns and technology can only get us so far – much to Mr. Stark's disappointment. People like that girl in your arms, they are our best chances for a front line."_

 _He looked directly at Amalia then, his head tilted to the side, but his gaze appearing as though he was the one who held the keys to her life._

 _"_ _There's already such a small number of you out there," He said peculiarly, and Bella couldn't understand. She still had no idea what powers he possessed, but his words sounded important. He looked back at the wide-eyed mother. "Her time will come."_

Isabella knew from that encounter. That very small encounter, that a threat was clearly present. She could let herself get as comfortable as she wanted, she could send Amalia to any school she chose, she could move to any side of any state in the country. But none of it was free, and it never would be due to her debt to Fury. And he wasn't the kind of man to want money back.

 _Her time will come._

Those words haunted the young mother.

They followed her in all the years she spent in this foreign country. She felt it grow whenever anything out of the ordinary would happen. The second she heard on the news that an alien threat, or a robot army came knocking at the worlds front door – well, that's when she felt the fear of seeing the men in suits again, coming to take her kid away from her. It was her nightmare, imagining the blond girl, strapped to a table to be experimented on – alone and against her will.

There was a price that would come. She didn't know what it was, and she didn't know when it would present itself, but she knew to expect something sooner than later.

She only hoped she could prepare herself for what she could do if it did happen.

* * *

Just shoot me in the foot, I'd take it over this – I thought – rather dramatic for the first minute of the new term.

I stepped off the bus that had picked me off my street – very nearly having caught it to avoid the ten minute walk to the building. Every student knew that there was this unspoken rule on a school-bus, in which the more popular you were; the closer you'd sit to the back of the bus. It made shit-sense to me, but was another one of the many rules I had to follow to not haplessly stick out.

I sat at the very front; if you thought what I was saying made me sound like a whiney egg.

When I got off, I traipsed across the street, needing to cross the school football field in order to get to the front doors. The place was already flooded with kids as far as the eye could see.

 _I was back, bitches._ And by that, I meant I'd survived having to return to this cesspool of wasted human potential and body odor.

The thrum of a sickly feeling was beginning to numb the centre of chest.

I didn't know what it was about people my age that messed with me so badly. Maybe it was the expectant eyes, too clever and less patient for their own good – neither wise nor easy to talk to. They were nothing like the elderly visitors at the shop. They weren't like animals either, happy to just have a living thing to play with.

It was an odd phase of life, full of odd people.

 _Midtown's High School of Science_ _& Technology_ – sketchy name, I know – was a relatively chill place full of millennials that either dominated the social spectrum, or hated life to where you could see the suffering in their eyes. While I fell into the latter, it was odd how it defied traditional stereotypes in that way. The jocks were more often than not, buff, good-hearted dudes, interested in patting every dog they saw. The cheerleaders here were cut-throat for sure, and while, yeah, I'd see them scoff at the nerds, I have never seen a group of people so committed to their own – and you could see how close they were when you stumbled upon them, chilling and doing their make-up in the bathroom like a bunch of scary mermaids.

The 'geeks' were left alone for the most part, and while they were often excluded by the vast majority, they kept each other company – often found playing each other at chess or D&D. Believe me when I say, you have not experienced such a round of applause or celebration until you watch those guys win at something.

In amongst all that, it was easy to see that I never jumped up on any of those bandwagons. I don't know why I hadn't taken the opportunity when I was younger – why I didn't get into boy-bands or learn how to spread hot-goss, why I hadn't picked a varsity sport or even why I never watched Dragon Ball Z. Perhaps, if I had, I could've belonged to some click.

But it wasn't like I minded. I'd rather be alone at this point and be myself than pretend to like shit I truly didn't. And hey, if I ever got bored of not fitting in, I could always dye my hair purple and start a cosplay club, though I doubt anyone else would be interested in joining.

It was nearing the end of my first year at this place, and it seemed like I had completely missed my chances at this point. This wasn't Riverdale – where a Jughead Jones-type such as myself, ever had the chance of making friends with a group of super-models, only to end up dating the blonde goddess of the bunch.

Ain't that a damn shame?

 _"_ _Amalia Prieto?"_

I heard a voice question, just as I'd gotten to my locker. It was odd-sounding in the corridor full of youthful, happy voices, only until I realized why. It was an adult's voice.

I turned to find the Principal? Stood in a crisp suit? Looking at me with apparent feigned interest?

 _"_ _Yessir?"_ I questioned with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, caught off-guard.

"Follow me into my office, please?" He asked with a polite, placating smile.

 _Oh no._

 _I was too young for the big-house – I'll never play major league baseball again_ , I thought, panic-stricken, even though I had never committed a single crime in my short, short life – nor did I do any sports whatsoever. Because what other reason could there have been for this sudden interruption, other than the mild suspicion that I was in trouble?

I didn't have a choice, so it seemed, as surrounding eyes began to fall on me and curious whispers began to leave those that were stood in our direct vicinity.

 _Oh hush_ , I mentally berated the gossips. We're not in the third grade anymore, and it's not like you've been living under a rock this past summer so that seeing a teacher talk to a student is suddenly scandalous news.

I followed the principal into his office – the room looking deceptively inviting with its mint green walls and multicolored decorations– like a coral formation with an eel sat inside, ready to strike at any given moment.

"Principal Morita," I questioned, having found my footing to ask with an even confidence. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No, not at all. Please take a seat," He said, motioning to the two chairs that sat in front of his desk. I did as he said, listening as he took a seat in his spot as well. "I'm afraid it's my fault, rather than something to worry you over."

He smiled, continuing, "This is a matter that concerns a student. Martin Whetzel. I doubt that you know him, since you don't share the same classes. Scrappy kid, penchant for breaking the rules every now and then."

I followed along to the principal's words, completely bemused as to what this had to do with me.

Martin Whetzel was notorious at our school for the simple fact that he was a skeevy douche.

He hung out around the taboo group at our campus – the violent, camo print-wearing creeps that tried to act cool by flicking their pocket-knives around, and getting a bit too close to girls who wanted nothing to do with them. I had a feeling I knew exactly why he was in trouble too. There had been an incident over the break that I heard of, through one of the school's online message boards – where people were talking about how Martin and a few of his buddies had turned up uninvited at a party. They had tried, and thankfully failed, at trying to roofie some poor girl. Though, jokes on them, she had on some of that new nail polish that changes color to show you when your drinks been messed with. Like seriously, bless the 21st century and the company that came up with that technology.

So I sat, still listening and wondering as to what this loser, who definitely should have been kicked out by now, had to do with me.

"Well... Mr. Whetzel seems to have gotten into some _trouble_ with his classmates – serious enough that we're concerned for his wellbeing," Principal Morita finished, in a stilted tone.

Finally having enough of this confusion, I attempted to pipe up.

"What does Martin Whetzel have to do with me, sir?"

"Yes, I apologize," He tried, kindly, before pausing. "What I'm asking you, Ms. Prieto, is if you would be willing to switch classes with Mr. Whetzel?"

At my second of silence, he was quick to try and diffuse.

 _"_ _You can deny of course!"_ He jumped, "It's just that we believe this is a good way to aid Martin on his path of amending his mistakes… and this is not meant to offend you, in any way… but after inquiring, it seems that you have the least to lose from such a shift. Your teachers claim that you don't have many friends Ms. Prieto?"

 _Save me the therapy session._ _I was listening to enough of this shit already._

It had already struck me why.

 _Martin Whetzel, as dirty a soul as he was, came from a rich family._

It was a public school; the principal in front of me, and the school itself, had everything to gain by Martin's family's good graces. And just somehow, switching rooms with me was supposed to miraculously solve all of his sociopathic tendencies. Well, that's the excuse they seemed to be going for to get him off scot-free.

"I get it," I said with a fake air of ease, only faltering a little bit. _I really did get it._

It was true. What he said wasn't _supposed_ to be offensive, and it truly wasn't a big deal; moving classes _._ But just the way he said it – the way he was trying to schmooze me into the offer instead of just telling me what his intentions were. It was inherently worse.

He wanted me to take a hit for someone else's issue. Because who cared what I lost by doing so?

To the principal, it didn't matter that I would be uprooting everything I had learned to follow so far – I was inconsequential. _Inconsequential because of how many friends I had_. Inconsequential because he lost nothing by upsetting _my_ family.

Did I really matter so little if I wasn't dating the captain of the football team, or belonged to a family with a rich, popular background? Why was I seated in this chair and not any other kid? Why wasn't he asking anyone like… Lis Allan, just to take names. She was in the same class as me, but just because she was the social queen around these parts, she was somehow more worth her place?

The thought made me feel like the ground was being ripped out from under my feet. That, in the grand scheme of things, I didn't matter to these people.

"Great!" Principal Morita exclaimed, completely oblivious to any of my distress.

"Your new classes should be outlined in this," He held out an envelope full of papers for me – like he had already been ready for me to accept, regardless of how I felt about the topic. I got up, wanting to be nowhere near this place, as he began talking at me – stuff about my new timetable, and about how some of my teachers were the same as I previously had. As if that was what I was concerned about. It was the kids. A whole new set of faces I knew nothing about.

He walked me towards the door, his words like white noise at the back of my head. I felt the door close behind me as he bid me a good day. My eyes were stinging, and I was stood there – without a fucking clue on what to do or where to go next.

 _What a way to start the year._

* * *

I took a breath, walking into the cafeteria, done with half my classes done for the day.

It wasn't as dreadful as I'd been expecting, go figure. I still had a few classes with the same people I previously did – and even though I wasn't close with any of them, it was comforting to sit in a class with the same faces. The other half of my classes however, seemed like a rowdier, scarier bunch. The new class was half-full of the kids you wouldn't want to see smiling and posing for the school's promotional pictures – to put it simply – where the other half of kids were already on their way to becoming scientific scholars. A room full of punks and nerds, if I wanted to be stereotypical.

Like I said, not too bad. I could've gotten worse, like a class full of preppy kids that looked at you like you were the grime on the soles of their shoes. In front of this new class of randomly-assorted misfits, I felt like my discount-artsy ass could belong there eventually.

But then there were larger problems I had on hand.

 _The Cafeteria._

Where I was normally appointed block A, which was a time set earlier in the day – I had been moved to block B, a time with a whole new set of kids, none of which I knew.

Normally, I got lunch and took it outside, eating on the grass, leaned up against a tree with my sketchbook in hand. The best part was that there was never anyone around, and I had a whole field of peace to myself.

I couldn't do that now, so it seemed.

A few weeks ago, some chump-ass senior had decided to throw a rave in the section of trees I normally sat at, a final party as the year came to an end, but ultimately leaving behind a ton of drugs. The guy was expelled with just a few months of school left to go, but it was really my spot I cared about more – it was under a quarantine of sorts, with people coming in to clean it at our lunch period.

In the time it took for them to do that, I was confined to the cafeteria and the head-ache inducing formula that came with knowing where to sit.

" _Hey_ ," I heard – a clear, snappy call. I didn't think the sound was made for me – since I distinctively knew I didn't recognize the voice – but taking any chances to not look like an awkward penguin having been stranded on dry land, I looked.

A girl, another apparent freshman, was eyeing me intensely – her face clear of emotion.

I did a quick double-take around me, embarrassed as I pointed to myself in question. She nodded once with an outtake of air, apparently amused.

I took quick strides to move to her on the empty table she was sat at. She was a pretty girl, face clean of the make-up I could spot on nearly most the girls here, dressed tall in black denim and an apparent band-tee. A very obscure band, so it seemed. She had a stack of books in front of her, a thermos of tea, and a notepad she was working in.

I knew I had seen her around before, loitering around in the shadows of the school, and now sitting at the back of my new classes. She always had a wry look to her – it was intimidating, yeah, but appearances often did a shit job at telling you what a person was really like.

She held up the book she seemed to have been drawing in.

"I'm calling this one; _'Miserable Specimen #28'_ ," She said dryly, her head held like that of a lazy cats'. The picture in her hands was a cartoon version of me – my eyes apparently wide and fearful.

I had to pinch myself in the arm to see if I was hallucinating, not exactly expecting _a drawing_ from her brand of 'sleepy-vampire that could punch your lights out if she wanted to.' It was a surprisingly soft™ turn of events from what I could have expected of her, which primarily consisted of her shanking me for my lunch money.

"Oh you're kidding, I'm sure I don't look that scared shitless," I said with a stuttered laugh, and the way in which her own eyes widened at that, I got the feeling that people are usually offended instead.

She coughed. "Well, I was going for more of a 'lost child at the supermarket' sort of vibe," she tried to explain, and to be honest; it did make sense. God, it made me wonder how pathetic I looked in real life, just stood about like a deer in headlights. Still, I had to play it cool – this was my first social interaction of the day.

"Well, art _is_ subjective," I reasoned, my head ducking to the ground as I felt the pressure of the sitch. I looked up then, questioning. "Why were you drawing me?"

"I'm not gonna sell this on eBay, if that's what you're wondering," She shrugged, an expression that said 'not like anyone would buy this anyway.' She ruffled a hand through her dark curls, "I just draw people in crisis; it's my only mission on this damned planet."

"Well then, who am I to stop you doing such holy work?" I smiled despite my nerves. Her apathy was oddly charismatic, and I just couldn't help myself in comparing her to every tsundere character to have ever existed.

On instinct, I attempted a small wave despite the lunch tray in my hands and the bag across my shoulder, "I'm Amalia. I don't think we've met?"

She seemed hesitant to reply to that. Very hesitant.

" _Michelle_ ," she ground out eventually, having gone back to drawing in the book. "That's all I had to show you by the way. It's fun seeing them lose their shit when I do. You can go back to looking miserable."

Oh, she just wanted me to walk away after all that? Cool _cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool_ _ **cool**_. No doubt, no doubt, no doubt.

I nodded, slightly discouraged by how quickly this was coming close. Obviously, she was sitting by herself – the only times I'd ever seen her, she'd be by herself – so probability theory would say that she'd prefer having it stay that way.

However, the second I made a turn to leave, a persistent thought wouldn't leave me – _I could at least try._

It could have been fate that she stopped me, who knows? But to seem more realistic for my own sanity, we had _just_ been studying probability in the class before, that claimed there was always the chance of several possible outcomes for any given situation _–_ key word 'possible' _– this was an eqaully mixed bag._

 _I'm sure it could work out in the opposite for once._

"…Do you mind if I sit here?" I asked, hesitant as all hell. I'd attribute that to the fear of her karate-chopping me in the neck for even suggesting.

It surprised me when she made a very, very small groan of protest, not looking up her book.

It was nothing big enough to knock me out of my shoes. It was instead, the kind of noise you'd hear when you messed with a cat that was lying in the sun – mild annoyance for blocking their warmth, but like they'd still leave you scratch-free.

I took the sign as encouragement - an amused, hopeful grin highlighting my cheeks.

"C'mon, don't be lame," I tried, my mom instincts kicking in – she reminded me of my own useless feline after all. Then, pulling out my own sketchbook, I waved it at her with a 'you're gonna get it now' face. "You drew me dirty, so get ready face the unholy consequences of my graphite."

She _actually_ laughed at that, and it threw me with its abruptness. It lasted a second, and sounded stilted, but it was a laugh all the same.

"Go for it," She huffed, shaking her head slightly, and despite my nervousness, I at least felt like I wasn't intruding on her space.

 _Michelle_ sounded like she didn't actually get a kick out of most things – reminding me quite a bit of Stark and his 'I'm so impressive, no mortal can make me laugh' attitude. Regardless, she was still a teenager, so I doubted she possessed a similar ego.

I suppose I was just curious to know more about her. While she _was_ intimidating in some respect, we were getting along well enough. She wasn't trying to get rid of me.

 _Oh human beings, give us a person or a pet and we're done – we'll literally pack bond to anything. Give my affection-impoverished soul a living thing that can stand me and I'm even worse._

I took a seat opposite her, placing down the lunch tray with its assorted platter of the usual gruel. Cold chicken nuggets, a handful of peas, and mashed potatoes that looked like they were scooped out from a vat of old glue. The cookie was the only golden item, a hero among its food brethren – and I would treat it as such, saving it for last.

"You're kind of _shy_ , aren't you?" Michelle said suddenly, and the tone in her voice almost made me jump. It wasn't accusatory, but did indeed sound like a conspiracy theorist laying a premise.

I blinked. "What makes you say that? Was it the extreme discomfort that just emanates from me at all given moments?" I grinned ruefully, my eyes fixed on the sheet of paper I had begun drawing on.

Out the corner of my eye, I watched her shrug.

"Mostly because you haven't looked me in the eye, like at all," She said off-handedly, of which I did finally look at her. She waved it off. "It's cool, not that I care. You could be Medusa for all I know. And in that case – thanks for not turning me to stone."

I felt thankful for her passing it off.

I wasn't normally so unprepared to take on the world, or to take on strangers – it was just that this unprepared shift in classes had left me shook. I was uneasy and tense all around, and it felt like an invisible hand was holding my head down. It felt like a saving grace to be able to stare down at the sketchbook and not make eye contact.

It wasn't like I was ashamed of my nervousness. I knew it wasn't a constant in my life, so I knew it wasn't always going to be there to bother me.

I should just focus on not screwing this up.

"Yeah, sorry," I stated, smoothing down my paper. "People psyche me out. I stare in the mirror every morning wondering why I wasn't born a pigeon. Being Medusa would be cool too, she's got people issues, but she's also got snake pals. So it's a mostly win-win situation, being alone but having a ton of pets."

Michelle hummed thoughtfully. "You've got a point there, but there's too much room for error, being Medusa. In this modern era, there's a mirror the second you turn your head – and it looks like it'd suck being stone. Nah, I'd rather be a Lynx – living in a forest all peaceful-like." She said, like she'd actually spent time before-hand thinking over the answer. I actually did see her as being a lynx, if she were an animal – as most sane people knew; every human had an animal they resembled in some way, shape or form.

I nodded deeply, tapping my forehead like the roll-safe dude. "Smart. Top of the food chain."

She smiled semi-freely, her eyes keen to keep reading the book she had picked from her pile, even though I wondered how she could be doing that and talking at the same time. "At least that's something we have in common, stranger. A mutual lack of comfort around crowds of kids," she said the last part like a kid making an 'icky' face.

I raised an eyebrow, looking up at her curiously. "They don't seem to bother _you_."

And it was true. No one who 'didn't like people' went around calling them out for drawings they did of them.

On the rare chance a person's demeanour and aesthetic intrigued me into drawing them – normally happening in simple places like the bus stop – I never tapped on their shoulders to show them. Michelle was different in that way, I could see. Almost like she wanted the attention, but was doing it in a way that didn't compromise her coolness.

To prove my point, she only rolled her shoulders, her head tilting back like she had nothing in the world to ever lose.

"Yeah, it's really easy," She said, looking up at me too. "Imagine everyone here being a middle-aged parent with a really suburban name."

She then pointed towards a tall boy walking past us, on his way to his friends probably.

 _"See you in hell, Denise,"_ She addressed him with a pointy vengeance in her tone, stopping the guy right in his tracks.

I stared at the scene, wild-eyed _because hello?_ Does federal law let you do that? Call out random strangers from their daily, normal routines?

And the boy looked _so confused_ – a hand placed on his chest like he was having a mid-life crisis at the pure age of 16. The poor dude looked just as mentally skewed when Michelle turned away from him like she'd never said anything in the first place.

"And that's how you stop feeling nervous around them. I doubt a Bernice has ever scared the pants off of anyone," she concluded, as if there was no room to argue. The newly appointed _Denise_ , too, had walked over to the table he was originally going to sit on, and I could vaguely hear over the chatter _'guys. I've been renamed. I am Craig no longer'_ so I guess I really couldn't debate her on this.

"Yes well," I coughed to conceal my laughter. "While it is hilarious, you silly seagull you, I don't think you can get away with it without being thrown in a loony-bin by the time you're out of school. Unless you plan on explaining it every time."

I grinned as she did, the smallest hint of a genuine expression being hard to catch to anyone that wasn't paying attention. She wasn't fooling me. She hid it well, I'd admit, under those creased brows and dead eyes, but Michelle was observant for a reason. She looked too involved in the lives of others to _just_ wanting to be left alone.

But oh well, it wasn't my job to dissect her character. I was just secretly glad that I had someone to get along with. Who knows, maybe I could nod at her in the hallways now, like they do in pro-wrestling. We could grow into having the new Macho-Man x Hulk Hogan bromance of the century – but that was probably stepping too far for a first meeting.

I was happy to sit there and acclimate to my surrounding for longer, since it beat the alternative of having to face the rest of my unknown schedule – but, I was forced to move when I heard the bell go off.

"Well, it was nice meeting you Michelle," I sighed like an old southern grandfather as I stood up, finally sliding over the drawing I had been working on.

It was a realistic doodle of her at the table – _well_ , as realistic as I could get it, aside from the cat-like eyes. It was a hard shift from only drawing animals, to actually attempting to draw a person, after all. It wasn't the jokey kind of style she made of me; still, I was rather happy with it; not like I'd be sticking around for much longer to see if she felt the same.

I grinned then, recognising the perfect way to exit this conversation.

"I'll be seeing you on the soccer-field sidelines, Linda. Try not to fracture that new nose-job of yours again – I wouldn't want to pull up the minivan after you bled on it last time," I said in the perfect snooty tone of nose.

I watched as her expression morphed from a wide-eyed sort of shock – a subtle look on her face, but noticeable. _What? Can't handle your own medicine?_

She nodded suspiciously with narrowed eyes, a wave of understanding hitting her. A glint in her eye told me how she'd respond before she even did.

" _Martha, you carpool-hogging bowl of stale cookie-dough._ Tell your husband I said hi," she played along, just as serious to the part as I was.

I snorted and the act was done for – quite excellently explaining why I never had a knack for acting. I could never keep a straight face.

I waved my goodbyes at the girl I wondered why I had never said hello to before. I mean, sure we were never in the same classes, but I would have tried to get over my shitty social anxieties and talked to her if you told me we'd actually get on. But I suppose things happen for a reason.

She nodded me off with the paper I had done the drawing on, which is a response I never would've gotten if I'd have run away sooner, I figured.

And like that, I walked through the cafeteria doors, with people who were all set on differing degrees of urgency to get to their next classes.

 _Ok_ , I said to myself. _Not so bad, Prieto. Job well done._

The day started off shitty, but I had made a grand total of one acquaintance.

For a new class, I guess it was sub-par, bordering on that clip of Adam Sandler screaming 'YOU BLEW IT' because despite it all, I was still never going to be the school's new sweetheart.

That thought could mess with a lot of people our age, I realized – of not being able to climb the social hierarchy that got you nothing but a lot of instagram followers and tension headaches. But hey, for me, this moment was still a small win.

I didn't know where I was going to go with Michelle. If we were going to become pals or if I was never going to see her after an abrupt decision to start avoiding me like the Black Plague – but that is something I'd leave for future me to deal with, because at the moment, I felt great.

* * *

 _Oh lort, I did not feel great._

It was Chemistry. The last period of the day. I had made it this far.

My eyes glazed over at the sight of the scribbles on the board – lids heavy, under a distinct layer of 'outside grease' – y'know, the kind you accumulate, just from making contact with the outside world?

The whole day, excluding lunch, had gone by without a hitch – as normal as it usually went – with me sulking through the shadows like some rare, nocturnal animal caught out of its comfort zone. This wasn't home, where I could just stroll about the house in pajama pants, belting the words to Les Miserables like a drunk seal. I was out of my comfort zone – a defenseless kiwi, midst a field of stoned, apathetic zombie-possums.

Iwanttogohome,jesuschrist – my brain was slowly turning into a vapid swirl as I attempted to ignore how nice I'd feel once that bell rang and I could literally javelin-throw myself out the window.

Until then – it'd do me some good to pay attention maybe.

I tried to focus on the foreign hieroglyphics Ms. Warren was robotically scratching out on the board.

Chemistry? More like Chem- _ystery_ – **_badum tsss_** – I didn't have the slightest idea of what was going on.

Small portions of my sanity were being extinguished with every new equation that made its way onto the chalkboard. I mean, give me a history lesson any day of the week, I knew all the words to Hamilton off heart – but if you asked me to describe the 'metallurgical process in which a metal is obtained in a fused state' – well, I'd just look at you like a hooker that had teleported into a convent.

I was sat by myself as everyone else cranked at their Bunsen burners, because wouldn't you know it? _This new class of mine had odd numbers_ – man I just loved the high-school education system and its vast range of equal opportunities.

 _Okay_ , maybe that was me taking my shit-talking a bit too far. There was apparently a 'delinquent' that hadn't made it to class yet – or so Ms. Warren had squawked when she was taking the attendance – so I guess I couldn't blame anyone but the loser who unknowingly elected to leave me partner-less.

The whole class was a mix-matched assortment of people I knew from my old regimen, as well as a bunch of strangers I'd never even seen around. It was odd that people still seemed to get along with each other, just as fine as they normally would – but hey, I had given up on researching the oddities of teens for a while now.

I restrained the urge to stretch out, to feel alive again, instead leaning down to lay my chin on my crossed arms.

Ms. Warren was pretty rad, acting as one of the very few teachers I still had from my previous selection of classes – which was truly a godsend.

She didn't care too much when kids were late, or when they chose to skimp out on class, messing with the ones who misbehaved, and occasionally going into little stories about her time in jail and the shit she'd get into when she was a younger señorita. I was worried for a second, about being caught in my undead daze – but I was pretty covered behind the back of Cindy Zhao, who had impressively grown a whole foot over the holidays. Therefore, it looked like I could zone out all I liked.

After a few minutes of just eyeing the wall, my gaze drifted over to the window, just in time to catch sight of a modest and humble bumbly-bee. What was it about bees that just made them look constantly lost? Poor little guy – he looks like he'd be _e_ (haha, get it) depressed for a month if you bumped into his fuzzy little behind.

I tapped softly at the window with my finger when I was sure the teach couldn't hear, entirely too focused on this insect.

"Ya' like _jazz?"_ I hummed the question, smiling as it did a little barrel role.

Just as calmly as I watched the bee bumble away outside the window, with me saying a quiet goodbye, did a large boom distract me – the farthest opposite you could get of calm.

I cringed at the sound, but was drawn nonetheless.

My eye picked up on movement where the sound had cut off, realizing with little to no speed, that someone had literally bust into the classroom. I was just as confused when half the class burst into laughter, the other few whooping as if they had regressed ten years, _the toddlers_.

I watched the back of the new arrivals head, as the person – a guy dressed in somewhat of a preppy sweater on top of your run-of-the-mill blue jeans – stood in front of the teacher's desk, one hand clutching to the back-pack on his shoulder.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms. Warren, you know how bad the traffic gets in the morning," he said, somewhat meekly. It was pissing me off that I couldn't see his face, like jeez Cindy – give the short puffin behind you a fighting chance.

 _Who was this possibly insane guy?_ I pondered. It was already the end of the day – why bother coming in at all.

Ms. W scoffed. "It's mid-day!" She exclaimed, a disbelieving smile in her voice as she agreed with my internal surprise. She held her hand out then, expectant. "Not that that matters – if you've got a tardy slip that is, young man."

"I do. _Sorry_." He apologized, and my eyebrow quirked at how he did indeed sound genuinely sorry.

The teacher made the sound only a long-suffering mother knew how to make, her face softening. "It's fine. Find a seat, Mr. Parker."

And with that, my attention was fully lifted away from the window, watching with an erratic beat of the heart as I realized that I was the only one without a partner. This had to have been God's cosmic joke, because I realized I was better off, working by myself, than I'd be with a stranger – if only I had shut my thoughts up earlier.

But wait.

I knew that voice was familiar. The name, just as much.

This wasn't a stranger.

 _Oh crud._

"You!" The owner of the weak voice had stopped dead in his tracks.

I finally caught sight of his face – the mousy brown hair, the coppery eyes, the nose that seemed like it had been broken once or twice – having healed back crooked – and felt my own face fall.

 _Well hello there, pretty boy._

 _"_ _You,"_ I said back, mortified. My tone of dismay betrayed my surprise.

His face was just as apparently frozen as mine, and I was legitimately surprised by the fact that he seemed to have remembered it. It had been a good month since he last saw me – plenty of time for a teenage boy to forget.

I suppose I could've forgotten too – but my socially starved consciousness just had to pick him to remember.

"Mr. Parker," Ms. Warren said with a large helping of impatience. "While I'm sure the class is grateful for this little distraction from the lesson, I'm gonna ask you to take a seat. Unless you want to spend the last thirty minutes of this class in the hallway outside."

I snapped my jaw shut, wiping the expression of surprise away, as best I could. Promptly looking as uninterested as I knew how, I turned back to the board – actually attempting to do the equations that were written up on there.

From behind me, I could hear snickers – hyper-aware of everything around me. And yet, out of everything, what I had to distract myself most from was the awkward sense of being able to feel Parker take a seat next to me. He had taken a hot minute to sit down – something I couldn't blame him for. Even without knowing him all that well, I felt he would have wanted to sit anywhere else.

I mean, what were the chances something like this would happen anyway? I knew this was a new class and all, but how could I never have predicted this? How could I never have known we even went to the same school?

Jesus. You know how you only use 10% of your brain on most good days? Well, I was suddenly running on fifty percent – mind half split between keeping an invisible eye on the boy, and the other half focused on how I was going to handle this.

What would I say? What would _he_ say? Would either of us say anything, or would we both pull a 'mysterious stranger' move as we nodded at each other once in understanding and then never spoke again.

I looked over to him, just as he did the same.

"Hey," He made a small wave.

 _Damn. We're compromised._

My eyes suddenly found the white board interesting, but a sarcastic smile made its way through to my voice. "Hello, guy-I've-definitely-never-seen-before."

I caught sight of a coy expression on his face, a half smile. His whispered voice was so much softer than his normal, squeaky tone, "I could say the same for you. I didn't know we had classes together. Or that we went to the same school, as a matter of fact."

I rubbed at my forehead. "Yeah, it's funny – fate just seems to have been bored today. It's been using me for a punching bag," I sighed, taking note of his confused look. I then chose to try and vaguely explain. "Morita moved me to this class. Y'know, because I'm such a rebel and needed to be put in place."

"And yet I'm the one who's late?" He grinned, not at all accepting that I was a secret punk.

I made an incredulous face – halfways out of offense. I was suddenly all on board to play the part of a cigarette huffing, leather jacket wearing dare-devil.

"Hey, I'm a bad-ass, not an anarchist. Education is important – like Mr. T says. You need to learn about math and stuff before you go overthrowing governments," I defended myself.

He smiled with his eyes closed, like he couldn't acknowledge the absurd turn this convo was taking – and while it may have been my imagination, he looked happy to play along.

"Yep, yep," He agreed. "I used to get the same ads on T.V. Don't be a fool, stay in school," he recited, quietly attempting a macho Mr. T impression. I didn't think this kid could be intimidating if he tried, but he was even less so with that voice. It was awkwardly endearing, I had to admit.

"It's good to know where your morals lie," I smiled in confidence, far too serious for the silly topic.

His laugh sprung like water from a broken fire hydrant, and I had to admit it caused me the same reaction. I was quick to suppress my amusement though, not knowing what had gotten in to me. I wasn't normally one for giddy outbursts, but it is something I'd take over chemistry, any day of the week.

I was lucky that Parker's voice was so low to begin with, since a look at Ms. Warren's face told me that we had poked a few annoyance buttons, but were left without consequence due to the pre-existing chatter.

"You're not looking at me, for some reason. Since I sat down, actually," He said, after we had quieted, the question coming completely out of left field.

And with that sudden observation left my amusement.

Self-consciously, he asked again. "What? Do I look weird? Do I have something on my face?"

It was true, I wasn't looking him in the eyes. It was like how I'd been with Michelle, but I feared it was for a different reason entirely, now. With Michelle, I felt exposed in that large cafeteria – so unprepared and new to the air of that crowd. A room in which it felt like all eyes were on me, as stupid as I knew the thought probably was. This was different. Parker and I were speaking low, quiet enough to only hear the other. I suppose it was just the jitters of seeing a familiar face, after thinking that I never would have again – but I honestly couldn't really tell why.

I took in his appearance, properly trying to meet his eyes – rather than restraining myself to quick glimpses.

He looked nearly the same as I'd remembered – which, for a ten minute meeting a month ago, _in the dark_ , was pretty on point. It was an odd thing still, seeing him again, clearly there. Like a stranger from a dream one tries to remember the next day, but has forgotten half of it.

His face was set, with features that were alive and constantly moving. His jaw was constantly twitching, and his eyes were very alive, jittering around the room like he couldn't sit still. I noticed, more clearly in the clear, florescent light of the classroom, that they were a light brown colour, with a ring of gold hung inside the iris. His eyes reminded me of a newly put in barn door, flecks of deep brown married with lighter hues, completely youthful.

My eyes drifted up.

His hair was wild too – like he had spent the last ten minutes in front of a giant fan. Wind-swept, I think the word was.

 _Que Chula._ A pretty boy with pretty messy hair. The universe just wanted to be an asshole today.

I was gonna answer his expectant look when a particularly edgy snort shot through my ears from the table behind me, like someone was not-so-subtly trying to get our attentions.

"Hey, Penis Parker got a tardy?" A weasel-y voice called, low enough to only signal the people sitting at the back of the classroom. I looked over my shoulder, only to catch the sight of none other than Flash Thompson.

Despite not previously having any classes with the guy, I had a good picture of what he was like. I think that anyone within a ten-mile radius did too. He was like cosmic radiation, in that way.

"Were you and that tubby buddy of yours too busy busting a nut over your new LEGO set or something?" He whisper-mocked the boy who sat beside me.

Where I would've just rolled my eyes at the skinny nerd who threw weak insults like it was second-nature to him, I watched as Peter visibly cringed in his seat.

Poor dude. I felt like shit watching him deflate, an odd fire burning in my chest.

The shitty thing about Flash Thompson was that he got under your skin, but not like your ordinary bully would.

He didn't beat people up by the locker bays, he didn't make out with the cheerleaders and then rub it into your face, he didn't hassle kids out of their lunch money. No, his tick was that he just didn't stop – he'd pester you until his voice was the _only_ noise, at the back of your head. A snarky, cringey voice that would just not stop trying to make you think the worst things about yourself.

Even though Parker looked taller and more built than Flash, I could see how he could still be afraid of the prick. He wasn't just some big guy picking on the little guy, but someone who used intimidation tactics to make you feel small and helpless.

I felt the fire spread, and I was speaking before I could stop myself.

"Don't listen to him," I batted Peter on the shoulder. "Like, literally don't. He had garlic popovers for lunch and his breath smells like if you flambéed a mariachi band. I don't see the point in turning your head and catching a whiff of that."

I heard a few kids around us suppress their amusement, my cheeks reddening due to the fact that I, of all people, initiated confrontation. Well, Flash must've gotten the memo too, as he made a strangled sound at the back of his throat – like a proud goat biting down on a bleat. I was sure he was going to cuss a storm back when Ms. Warren caught on to the snickers, shooting us all a death glare – universally known by students to mean 'shut up and stop disrupting my class before I fail you for the rest of the year.'

I was more than happy to quiet down, to focus solely on something with no drama whatsoever. I tried regretting what I did, because I knew that picking fights in high school never ended well. I really did try to hate myself for it – but couldn't, when Parker gave me a short nod, like he couldn't even believe I had stuck out my neck to help him. I imagine he didn't get it a lot.

"So where were you really?" I whispered after a moment's silence, off-handedly to make him think I didn't really care either way. I _was_ curious though. "Showing up to school so late, only come to the last class with an amazing entrance – you better have had a 'Ferris Bueller' calibre's worth of a day off."

"Nah, nothing too exciting," He smiled, toying with his hands. The action made me hide a laugh, thinking that he was trying to hide something far more interesting.

"Sure thing, you undercover mafia-lord you. I'm sure the family business can do just as fine if you keep going to school," I said, harkening back to our first meeting where I thought him to be a part of a criminal syndicate. What with his vague demeanour, I was still half-convinced.

I was aware that neither of us was paying attention to the board at this point – but I don't think that he really cared. Obviously, since it was the last lesson of the first day back – I doubted anyone was trying at this point. We only had a few minutes left on the clock, but surprisingly, the feeling of wanting to rush out of class as soon as the bell went off was disintegrating. I felt more like a contestant on a game-show, with a timer going off to halt any answers – rather than a prisoner escaping captivity. I kind of wanted to chat for longer.

"I swear to you – on the souls of all my warrior ancestors – that I do not work for a bad-guy," He pronounced, seemingly remembering our initial meeting just as well.

 _"Nice try Mulan,"_ I grinned lightly. "You're hiding something, and I don't think it's that you're a lady in disguise."

Parker's movements seemed to freeze, but I hardly had time to think of that as a blaring bell rang off from over us. Students were standing and stretching, suddenly alive, excited chatter breaking out in the classroom.

I was fearful that was going to pull the old 'the bell doesn't expel you, I do' routine that teachers seemed to love so much – but gave a sigh of relief as she smiled tiredly and wished everyone a good evening, reminding us to stay safe on our ways home.

I was quick to pack up too – hearing my knees creak as I stood. _Oh sweet relief!_

I watched as Parker grabbed his stuff too, registering that I really would be sharing classes with this guy from here on in – if he ever decided to not show up so late. I guess there was no escaping my fate, that is, if he decided I wasn't too boring to keep on talking too.

A small, stupid part of me hoped that we could. Keep talking, every now and then. But shit, that was lame – and getting ahead of myself. He only sat beside me because he _had_ to – because I was the only other open seat.

He probably had a whole ten other choices, that he probably most gladly would have taken if he hadn't been late.

 _You two aren't friends. Stop thinking that this little coincidence changes anything._

"So hey," his voice tore me from my thoughts, and I was surprised to see him hanging back, rather than bolting off towards the door.

I met his eyes and searching expression. "Yes?"

He ducked his head. "You never did tell me your name. And I thought that um, people normally do when they've met more than twice."

 _Whoops, I'd forgotten about that._ He still had no idea who I was.

 _So it was finally time to break the illusion._

I smiled at him then, extending a hand. "I'm Penelope. Penelope Cruz. I've travelled back in time to relive my youth after so tragically aging – despite the eternal youth I gained in Pirates of the Caribbean 4."

Ah, what a specific lie I had no earthly reason for thinking up.

Was I seriously reluctant to tell him my name?

I suppose I was – and I felt the possibilities give way. It was a barrier for me right now – a barrier that kept him from being real, in a way. Dang-nabit, it's not like I had this problem with Michelle earlier today.

And besides that, the smart-ass comments kept me young.

"Oh!" He said in momentary shock, his eyes narrowing then. "This might be offensive, and I'm hoping you don't hit me with your books, but would you blame me if I said I didn't believe you?"

I felt a crooked smile come on. "Ok, you've caught me out. I didn't time-travel, it's logistically impossible – could you even imagine me, Penelope Cruz, of all people," I feigned a laugh. "I'm actually a witch that's slowly been feasting on the hearts of the young and beautiful."

I leaned in, secretively. "Don't tell her, but Lis is my next target."

He laughed like a boy at church, who knows he shouldn't in such a quiet room. He then rolled his hazel eyes to the sky.

"I would love to not believe you and then see you go ahead and prove me wrong anyway. It isn't often you'd see something so cool, after all. But seeing as I've got a bus to catch in like, ten minutes, I can't really hold out that long," He said. "Is it normally this difficult for you to reveal your secret identity? Must make it hard when you go for a cup of coffee and need to tell the barista your name."

"Not really a coffee type of girl," I sighed, my eyes swinging at my sides as I struggled to find something to do with them. This kid had a bus he'd have to run to catch, but he was seriously wasting time to chat with me? I suppose he deserved better than the results of my snarky attitude.

Holding out a hand properly this time, I took a breath and spoke seriously. I think it was the least jokey I had been with him since that little spiel in the flower-shop, about Spiderman being a cool-dude that helped people out. Though, if my memory served me well, the incident hadn't exactly gone well.

"My name is Amalia," I said simply as he took my hand, having looked unsure if he should have. It was the same weird texture as before – not the kind of thing you forgot easily.

He gulped, for whatever reason, eyebrows rising with the intonation of his question. "Just Amalia?"

A Cheshire grin adorned my face.

 _Oh, you asked for it bud._

"Well, It's actually Amalia Ricardo Montoya de la Rosa Prieto" I recited, taking inspiration from a certain Latin bellhop. "But you can call me Ama. If you'd like."

Was I being an ass? Yes. Most definitely. Though, I couldn't necessarily blame myself – it was endearing as all hell, watching as Parker keep track of all my weird ramblings and odd references.

I think he was going to say something back when a new voice entered the fray.

 _"_ _Pete!_ Come on, we've got to see my new Lego _deathst-a.r.r,_ " A boy suddenly called from behind Peter. We had walked into the hallway, so it was easy to fit into the vacuum of people passing us.

The new boys voiced had fizzled out and died at the end of his sentence too, and I saw that it had been after he caught sight of me and seemed to die a little inside. Either that or his new Lego set just really dialed all his gears to a hundred. Not that I was blaming him – he had plenty reason to be psyched. Those sets were the funnest things to build – equal parts 'more infuriating than monopoly' when you lost a piece, with another equal part 'most satisfying moments compilation no. 3' when you finished.

Peter turned to make direct eye contact with his friend, turning away from me to hide the obvious faces he was making at him to go away or wait. I laughed behind my hand at that, so as to not interfere with his stealthiness.

He swooped back around; speedy quick after his friend gave him a thumbs up. _Real smooth._

He started chuckling awkwardly, pointing with his thumb behind him and faltering. " _That's_ my- Ned. My pal, _Ned_. Best buddies and all that."

I nodded along, completely enjoying his attempts to play it cool. My attention was snagged as he ran a hand through his wavy hair, mussing it up and laying it down straight. A nervous tick, I thought. Well, we had that in common. In moments of extreme social crisis, I would not stop with the dreaded 'double-tuck' – which involved me tugging the lengths of hair on either side of my face sharply behind my ears.

"I um, stopped past your shop once or twice, you know? I thought it'd be nice to see you every now and then. Since, like I said, I thought you were cool to talk to. _And because_ , you totally sold me on the flower thing. I bought a few for my aunt." He recited, a nervous speech. "You normally weren't around though, so I was kinda confused?"

 _He thinks he's being sly_ , I smiled to myself. I wasn't around the shop for the whole time, sticking to delivery-duty on purpose to specially avoid such meetings. Which further solidified the wall I was backed up into at the moment. With the two of us in the same class – I don't think I could have kept pretending I was a ghost.

"Well, a valued customer is always appreciated, but it's mainly my mom's shop," I smiled. I didn't know how to address the other stuff without offending him though. I rubbed the back of my neck, wanting to do nothing but deflect. "Still, it's hard to explain."

"Well I've got time," he waved it off easily, pushing up his sleeve to see a non-existent watch. "My bus isn't for a whole five minutes."

I gave him a look of disbelief, catching sight of his friend growing antsy. It wasn't the smoothest idea, what I said next, but it would do the trick.

"'It's hard to explain' is synonymous for 'I don't really want to talk about this'," I sighed, my gaze falling. I didn't want to hurt the guys' feelings after all – and keeping the truth from him would see that I didn't.

He paused a little, his eyes wide as if he thought he'd misheard me. After a pause, he nodded lightly. "O-ok," He stuttered. "Neat."

He went to turn around; nervously walking away with a speed I hadn't anticipated.

 _No wait._

Agh, me and my shitty brain – my tongue normally didn't get away from me this badly.

I kept forgetting how horrible it felt to be on his end – that just because I was the one who felt like a reclusive owl, I had no right to take it out on him. He was earnest and honest and trying – already better than me in up to ten different ways. I just couldn't understand why he was bothering with the likes of me.

My hand was already moving from my side, my voice just snagging on my teeth to stop him, to apologise if I could – when he sharply turned around.

"But if you ever want to talk – I'm around. And you are too – so just- yeah, if you wanted to talk," He tried, a nervous smile caught on his face.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and it was intermingled in my astonishment of this kid – it was hard to keep the surprised twitch out of my face.

"I'll keep that prospect in mind. Go catch your bus, Peter Parker," I said slowly, a small smile hiding the extent of my feels.

I thought that was going to be it, that he was going to walk away without a care in the world. But his eyes widened slightly instead.

"You remembered my name," he said simply, in surprise and with a short exhale of air.

Right, I realized. It seemed I remembered him just as well as he seemed to remember me, introductions included. I could feel a heat creeping up my neck, because now, he actually knew that I cared – even if I was trying to avoid him.

Still, I shrugged like it wasn't important. "It's not that difficult a name to remember, is it?"

"No, I guess not." He smiled sweetly. He held his hand out then, a tiny wave to say goodbye. "See you around, Amalia."

I waved back, watching him go then, my bottom-lip caught between my teeth.

 _Shit. So much for goodbye_ , I grimaced after he had walked off with his shorter friend. The other boy had immediately launched into asking Parker questions.

Gosh, I really didn't know what to do, amigo. This air of change was threatening to explode my lungs, honestly.

I was fine with how it was before. I would come to school, zone out through the entirety of every day, and then go home – it was comfortable enough in the latter place, so what reasons would I have to stay mentally present in school. I was fine to skip out on this section of my life – but this damn change, these damn people, that damn boy – why on earth were they even interested in pulling me away from what I had before.

I couldn't let this hope grow into anything else. This always happened. They promise you such good things – and for a little while, you feel like you belong. I got on with Parker, with that girl Michelle too, and I couldn't deny that it felt nice.

But I couldn't know if it would last – or how it would leave me feeling if it didn't.

I scratched my head, shaking the pesky thoughts from my brain. They weren't good to keep bottled in there.

I could deal with this – even if it was as unpredictable as it got. It was my life, and if one thing was certain, I knew I didn't want to keep driving people away. I remembered how shitty _that_ felt, with that little outburst that almost shooed Parker away.

Whatever this was – I felt like it was a chance. I didn't have to be the weird plant girl, I could be normal – if by chance, I didn't muck this up.

I huffed a breath and shuffled deeper into myself to avoid bumping into the rapidly moving bodies – all rushing to make it home. I had somewhere just as good to be. All I had left at school however, was to just see where this all went.

* * *

As the girl ambled farther away from the building, a pair of astute green eyes kept watch from the concrete tower across the street.

"Yeah, I've got eyes on her," she drawled, bored.

She had been stood there for a few hours now, and while the time was nothing compared to her usual jobs, she felt twice as annoyed knowing the absence of stakes. All she had to amuse herself with was her Walther PP – it was her weapon of choice, and she was working on breaking her record when it came to dismantling it at lightning speeds. It's not that she intended to use it here, but she never knew when it could come in handy.

Still, the 99.95 percent chance she most definitely wouldn't have to do anything with it, had gotten her uninterested. This was a kid she had to keep watch of, not the next Manchurian Candidate.

The woman hissed a breath into the device on her wrist. "She made it through just fine. I don't understand why you're making me waste my time – stalking her."

She waited for a response. A beat in which she sensed the voice on the other line sigh.

"You don't have anything better to be doing, last I checked," The voice said off-handedly. "Where, as a matter of fact – I do."

The woman rolled her eyes, but gave in just the same.

"I know, by the way. I owe you more times than you can probably count," She said, the softer side of her voice reserved only for those she dared call friends. But there was still the angle of business to this conversation she had to keep in mind. "I'll narrow it down to three for you. Your girl? There's no way I'm doing this out the kindness of my heart – that puts you on two, _ma'am_."

Her voice dropped to address the other voice sarcastically. They both knew they were officially equals in their line of work – what with S.H.I.E.L.D having disbanded. Yet, despite that fact, the voice on the other line had always been one to follow a by-the-book, professional approach to anything and everything.

The voice snorted. "Yeah, well I'll have to think about what I want you to do next, _faceless woman_."

The green-eyed woman chuckled low in her throat, a hand going to straighten the carmine strands from the wind. She had long-since learnt how to feel nothing in this cold – instead, the high altitudes just made her feel like she was flying, the wind was so much clearer after all.

"Tell me then. Why the urgency for me to be here, watching this girl," She asked. "I know that Stark's been keeping his eye on her. She was at the compound when I was working that job in Bosnia last week."

The voice on the other line gave a pause, and that's when the woman realized, this was more than a work-related issue. It was personal, so it seemed.

"It's complicated, Nat." The voice said simply. "I knew what Fury had in mind for her, when I joined. I knew that Stark was involved too. But they kept me in the dark too often – I never knew what the truth really was. Now that the Directors' gone – I've never been this uninformed. I need to look out for her." She sighed. "The girl's like an untouched mine, full of something that could make a lot of people rich. I won't let the wrong people get any ideas. She's under the radar for now, but with that little stunt Stark pulled about taking her to the facility, a dozen goons could be interested now. But she's not like you or me, none of the avengers either. She can't take care of herself – and I'd hope not to see her worry about things a normal teenager shouldn't be worrying about. Do you see why I'm concerned?"

The red haired woman cringed, and she couldn't remember the last time something had gotten under her skin. A flash of lace, pointed toes. Tall walls and metal. The smell of sanitization – a sickly scent. The color red.

The situation was beginning to make sense to her. The girl on the street in front of didn't look much older than she had been when she was recruited. And that hadn't been by choice either. The red haired woman, scared by a place with bloody walls. It was, and would always be; a sore spot.

She didn't like to think of herself as a caring creature, but she'd rather not see another kid in her shoes.

"Yeah, hear you loud and clear, boss." She responded after a beat, her voice a hint hoarser – undetectable to anyone she didn't want knowing. "Do you really think things will go that far? Do you think she'll be pushed into this life?"

The voice on the line had given pause once again, and Nat genuinely wondered whether or not her com. was broken.

"I'll do my best to see she doesn't, and if she does – she's going to lose a lot more than I think she imagines."

* * *

 **A/N – hello, cherished audience. I have returned briefly to drop this little hot take off. I'm supes busy at the moment with my exams next month so I might be acting a bit like an absentee father – for which I am truly sorry, I love all of u children. Once I have some free time in a month or two, im going to be on a roll with these chapters, just you watch me.**

 **I'm not all that happy with this chapter, since I could only add chunks to it on random days and not write uninterrupted for a few hours like I usually do – so pls do tell me if the quality of anything is going down.**

 **THO, on a positive note – Peter's back! I've genuinely been trying not to rush their relationship and force meetings, since it's pretty damn unlikely these kids could run into each other by chance as often as they do irl. Regardless, I still thought it was a cute meet-cute – AND ALSO, to all my American readers, I rlly hope I'm getting your school structure down accurately – since things are a bit dif. here in Australia.**

 **I tried to get Michelle's character down too – but it's kinda hard since she had like 5 lines in the movie. Still, I guess that's good that I have room to explore the character. Also, I hope that it's not obnoxious that I'm trying to get some relationships going – again, pls tell me if it sounds forced, because idk what I'm doing lol.**

 **AH I don't have time to reply to reviews! I'm so sorry! I'm incredibly sleepy right now!**

 **Ok, but to be concise; some things I did fix up (I hope):**

 **. I toned it down on vine references – but idk, I can't do much to eliminate humor and vague millennial references in normal speech, especially with Amalia – it's just how I do things, and I save straightforward speech for serious moments mostly. This is mostly because I thought that teens like Ama would just talk this way – and I draw inspiration from my own friends to see it's more common than I'd think. I hope this isn't all that annoying or distracting from the story itself.**

 **. PLUS – lots of confusing bits with third person and first person switches IM SORRY. I got pretty cocky with seeing if that would work – but I'm trying to make it all more clear now, mostly with the dashes to indicate a new section to the story.**

 **Also, ummm, (what else do I have to talk about?) – oh, two of parts in this chap that are in third person are super confusing – I know. The first flashback with Amalia and her mom arriving to America was written since a reviewer had asked how that all happened.**

 **Also the ending part – its okay if u don't understand it, since it's going to be a reveal plot-twist thing to come in time. I imagine you can guess who one of those characters are – but who is the mysterious voice on the other side?**

 **Anywho, I'll leave you with all that for now. See you folks in the next chapter (I'll try and respond to reviews then!)**


	7. Chapter 7 - Where's Superman? Help

**The Flower Lady & Her Pest.**

 **Chapter 7. Where Is Superman When You Need Him the Most?**

* * *

I grit my teeth in frustration. Anger coursed through my veins with biting electricity. My feet were steady and grounded into the tiled floor, my hands balled into stark-white knuckled fists.

Mortal men often wrote about the fury of Gods – I could feel it within every inch of me now.

I looked ahead at who had caused my strife, fixing him with a glare that could've rendered a grown man dead in seconds. I was learning now, how exactly David felt staring up at Goliath.

" _You have to be kidding me,"_ I started slow, dangerous.

" _These Pop-Tarts were five dollars a box before. Why am I now seeing that number doubled?"_

The old man at the counter just threw his feet back up on his empty milk-crate box, folding out his newspaper. His scratched at his greyed out chin, not looking bothered in the slightest.

"Them's the breaks kid. Moneys been tight," He waved off his response, not even gracing me with a look.

I felt my resolution break, my lip pouting out in an annoyed whimper.

" _C'mon Pops_ , that's not _fair_. Why raise the prize on something that kids nation-wide covet? Just make the tomatoes super expensive or something, call them organic and the neighbourhoods' hipsters will come running."

"Tomatoes don't sell," He said, grinning at the idea nevertheless, his southern drawl all the more smug. "You, however, buy _those_ every two days."

I narrowed my eyes. _He had me there._

"Fine, you win this time, you grouch," I conceded, thoroughly annoyed, metaphorically reigning in the pistol I had aimed at him for this shoot-out. "But consider my loyal customer-ship here _over and done with_."

Stomping my foot, I threw down the money for my groceries, picking up my bags and walking to the doors.

"I'll see you when your sweet-tooth starts hollering for a treat again," He called with utmost confidence, so sure I'd be back once my store of cookies ran out, or for the occasional late night ice-cream run.

He did look at me though, properly, making a noise for me to stop. "Do give your Ma my thanks, would'ya? Eudora loved those sweet lilies she got."

Despite my broiling irritation with him and his prices, I nodded. "I will. I hope she gets better soon."

And then, with his final returning nod, I left, with the twinkle of the door closing behind me.

I had to stop myself from tripping over the conglomeration of stray cats that had parked their furry little behinds near the shops front-door – knowing to raise my bags high enough so that they couldn't get at my foodstuff.

" _Begone you adorable street gremlins,"_ I hissed over their meows, waving my leg.

I'd been shopping at this old geezer's 'mom-n-pop-stop-n-shop' for over a year now, ever since Mom deemed me responsible enough with a credit card to walk a block and get our groceries.

The man, Hank, loved the stray cats that hung around his shop, almost as much as he hated most humans. I doubted there was much else he felt for in the world, oh, other than his wife. She was a sweet, little lady, shorter than even me – and that was saying a lot. She would be the one to feed the cats, and I suppose that was why Hank loved them in the first place.

She was sickly at the moment, and my mom, ever the gossip, had caught wind sooner than later. Bella had sent her a bushel of peach-coloured lilies in no time.

Anyway, I wished her the best in my mind – too focused on shooing away these annoying pieces of s _oft cat –_ the likes of which had begun meowing away at my feet, acting cute to get some pity rations. I _would_ feel bad, except that, spying their fat little bellies told me that Eudora kept them well-fed enough.

I sighed once I got far enough from them, the fatigue of a constant early start to my day getting to me.

The school year had officially begun, and I was two weeks into what acted as the bane of my existence. The mornings had been painful, and my sleep schedule had taken a hit like never before. On top of that, and what really made things 'fun' – was that the weeks I _had_ experienced going to high school had been a few of the most tumultuous I had come across in my career as a youngin'.

That first day still felt like it could've been yesterday, but if I compared who I'd been then to who I was _now_ – well, not that much had changed. I'd gotten a hair-cut, so in my own right I practically felt like a different person with those two inches of dead-ends gone.

Inwardly however, I was beginning to notice that _this_ , the way I felt recently – it was by far the most _aware_ I had ever been – the most sentient.

I thought back to the previous semester of school, trying to conjure up any noteworthy memories I had lived through – only to come up blank. Parties? Never went to one. Summer holidays? I had spent them as a recluse.

But now, it was like someone had dropped me into X games mode.

I found my head lighter with the lowered amount of time I spent locked away in my own thoughts; with the only job I had being to entertain my own bored soul. I payed more attention to other things – other people.

Lunch was the first obstacle I had found.

I realised how many options I had laid out in front of me – only to make me hum because yeah, none of them were really tickling any of my fancies if I was being completely honest. The garden outside was still under maintenance, which made me consider just eating my lunch like a sad dweebus in one of the gym's bathroom stalls. I mean how bad could it have been? I'd have my music and cute pictures of silly animals on my phone to pass the time with. I'd have my books and episodes of T.V shows I could've easily binged with the school's Wifi. It wasn't like I didn't have anything to do.

On any other day, I would have thought that it was all _enough_.

But I had another option now. _For what felt like the first time, I had another option._

And somehow, it made the other things seem just a bit lonely in comparison.

Things had gone well with the school's prized loner-of-the-year – coming tied for first place on the anti-social spectrum with none other than myself.

Michelle Jones, I had learnt was her full name.

I would've MTV punk'd myself if I said I didn't really, _actually_ enjoy our first encounter. It had been _fun_ , and as much as I tried telling myself on the walk home to forget about it, with every thought telling me I'd go on to screw it all up if I talked to her again – something stronger, deep in my chest felt really sad at the thought of letting it go.

 _I could actually make a friend_ , I considered.

 _Well, come on feet. Nowhere else to go but the cafeteria._

 _Hopefully my heart and brain – whichever one was responsible for the dreadful ickiness of anxiety – would be slow to follow._

Possessed by some unearthly source of bravery, I had done it, not knowing if she would even be there, and if she was – if she even wanted to see me again.

I had stood there like a guppy, yet again – not seeing her.

Until I had heard a snort.

From behind, like a witch who probably knew how to turn invisible because I swear she hadn't been there before, Michelle was looking at me with that dry, half-lidded, all-seeing stare of hers'.

She used her pencil to point at my ensemble.

"What in holy hell are _those_ supposed to be?" She had asked, as if utterly offended by the simple fact that I even rocked up to school with these on.

"My socks?" I asked, my eyebrows drooping to where she was pointing.

I had stitched them in Home-tech class last semester and honestly? They were my crowning glory – the only achievement I ever made that reminded me that _hey, if you try hard enough, you've got some talent kid_.

I made a face at her, defensively crossing my arms. "They've got small sushi's knitted into them. Can you not _see?_ They're lovely and I love them."

Her eyes fell back to her sketch-book. "You should hurry up and un-love them."

And that's pretty much how it went from there. I had sat down, whether or not she wanted me to – it was a free country so why not, I reasoned. The last time I checked, amongst the dozens of names that were scribbled onto the table with sharpie, hers was not present – hence, no ownership.

We had spent a while in silence – and then I had spared a glance at her, followed by another, and one after that – until I eventually wore her down into sighing and letting her head fall to the metal surface of the surface.

It had started with short, unintelligible phrases here and there, chock-full of the bitey snark I was coming to expect from her.

She most certainly wasn't the share-your-feelings type, and something told me that I still needed to unlock friendship level ten until I'd really get to know what her tragic back-story was. But that was fine – I felt quite easy with her, as funny as that was, comfortable enough to do the talking.

So I told her about my life and my mom, and the shop. She stayed silent through a lot of it – making me worry every now and then that she'd returned to her books, promptly set to ignore me. But I'd look to see her eyes were on me, and not the paper-bound journal in front of her. That gave me the courage to go on.

Everything had been pleasant, with me just gushing about my lumpy cat when she interrupted with a question.

'Why have I never seen you talk to another kid here?' She had asked, not in a mean-spirited way, surprisingly. She instead looked genuinely confused, without any of the usual wry sarcasm – almost as if she wanted to ask me for a while. Her query made sense I suppose – I mean, I _was_ acting open and honest with her, like we'd been friends since kindergarten or something. If a stranger came up to me and just started talking, I'd be confused about where their clique was too.

So I told her about what middle-school was like – the reason I never had many friends.

The bullies, the name-calling. I felt the need to be transparent with her. Why? Well, because I couldn't remember the last time I had been, with anyone really. Even talking to mom, I never really told her how much it sucked, to be ostracised by all the other kids.

I knew mom would have freaked out and guilted over it for years to come. Michelle just listened with that look on her face. It seemed blank and uncaring, but with the nearly invisible down-turn of her lips and the slight crease that had formed in her brow, I knew she felt something as she heard me speak.

"Wow," she had said when I stopped talking finally, her tone drier than the Sahara. "I really wish you and me went to the same school back then."

I laughed slightly, feeling a blush of embarrassment after practically bearing some of my soul to her.

I tried to be jokey, to make this less gloomy and serious. "Why? So you could draw my anguish? Would you have me sign your art with my tears?"

"No. Loser." She denied me bluntly, not even the slightest trace of a fun _'you're such a loser :P *winky-face*'_ present in her tone. She looked me dead in the eye. "So we coulda' done this sooner. I'd have shoved those dickwad bullies into a sewer-drain – let the killer clowns handle it from there."

I felt my shrivelled up prune of a heart swell just a little too hard at that. I don't think that there was ever a time where someone said they would nearly commit murder for me, but here it came now, even if it was an exaggeration.

 _Aw_ _man, that had been the nicest thing to hear._

I looked back at her, glassy-eyed and with a droopy face, to which she tossed a ball of crumpled paper at me, stressing that she took it all back. I just poked at her, my smile unbudging, responding with a 'no backsies' like we were a couple of five year olds.

It became a sort of unspoken thing then. Lunches were to be spent together at that exact same spot in the cafeteria. It had all the added benefits of being alone, but being alone together, since Michelle's aura was indeed scary enough to ward away any and all other kids looking for a seat.

She never commented on if she actually minded my being there, and naturally, I took that as a good sign.

Some days were spent with me making faces at her until she talked to me, looking less like she wanted to hurl me into a pit of lava with each conversation. Other days I went easier on her, just as happy to bring along my own book to read or to draw in.

 _Was this friendship? Had I done a friendship? Oh god, I hoped so._

It wasn't like we were joint at the hip, fawning over the other like long lost platonic soul-mates. It _had_ just been a short two weeks – but I felt good about it nonetheless. It felt like the start of something new, less cold than the days I spent crumpled in on myself next to a tree as my only friend.

In one of our conversations, I had come to learn that Michelle was a part of the school's academic decathlon team too, much to my surprise. She hadn't seemed like the type to join a group.

On top of getting to know her a little better, you can imagine how I brightened up when, in a rush one day, she brusquely motioned for me to follow her from where I'd been waiting for her for lunch. I trailed after her, having to rush to keep up with her power-walk, all as she vaguely apologised for not letting me know that she had the semester's first practice on that day. To make up for it, she invited me to sit and watch, with what could've been the slightest hint of embarrassment – almost like she knew she had practically invited me to see her flaunt her brainy knowledge.

I was thrilled to accept, having taken a quiet seat against the auditorium wall as kids from all different grades rushed to set up – with papers and tables and buzzers strewn about everywhere.

The numbers looked short and I wondered if people were missing – only that the faces that _were_ present did enough to draw my attention. Lis Allan for one, flittered about on long, weightless legs – a clipboard in hand that made it look like she was in charge of the whole operation. It was an admirable thing, I thought – she was always involved in something, spanning over and across all the school stereotypes. Whether it be her position as the captain of the decathlon or her lead role in organising home-coming, she looked to have a monopoly on what people thought of her, belonging to all spectrums of the school's social hierarchy and therefore being an enigma. I suppose that, without the convenience of obvious stereotypes, I too didn't really know what to think of her.

I had watched then as Michelle got up onto the panel to play the part of the 'Maths Specialist' which earned her my complete respect, to the point where she could've easily have been god in my eyes. Rapid fire math was nothing a mere mortal could just _do_ – and yet she managed to do it without blinking an eye half the time.

The period had almost come to a close when someone tripped over my legs.

It was a man, with glasses that were far too big for his face. He mustn't have seen me, as the lights in the auditorium had dimmed to provide the kids with the right atmosphere to practice.

I rushed up to help with his fallen papers, as well as to get a closer look at who the familiar face was.

"Well if it isn't Ms. Prieto!" The person had exclaimed in surprise, between his fumbles of getting his things in order – and the voice would've been unmistakable then, equal measures nerdy and a touch too loud for our quiet surroundings.

Mr. Harrington taught chemistry at the school, being my former teacher from before the Principal had swapped my classes – explaining how I'd recognised him in the dark.

It wasn't that I disliked his replacement, Ms. Warren – she was rad in all her own ways – but every now and then I'd remember always being thoroughly amused by the spectacled teacher's classes. He worried over the kids constantly, being caught in a constant web of wanting to help them out as if they were toddlers, but realising that he needed to treat them as tiny, responsible adults.

He quickly waved off my apologies and got to saying how horrible it was for me to have moved classes so suddenly. I was in no means a star pupil, resorting to doodling along the margins instead of paying attention in most of the classes – but I completed every assignment on time, and with enough of a passing grade.

I told him how I was there as Michelle's new boo, and that she'd invited me as her plus-one, present to just watch. The wording may have been a tad more professional – since teachers did strike the fear of god in me, regardless of whether their aura screamed of 'soggy bread' just as it did for Mr. Harrington.

The words still seemed to cause a small frown to appear in his other-wise optimistic face.

"Well that's a darn shame," He'd said, his eyes like magnified beads. "I was hoping you were here to get a taste of the game – we could use someone like you at the moment, if I'm being honest."

I used every bit of my willpower to not make a face at the man and his ridiculousness. I was in no means up to the calibre of all these different kids. It was like inviting Homer Simpson to sit down and test his knowledge against several clones of Lisa.

He must've sensed something scrutinising in my stare, because he laughed, albeit a bit awkwardly, like a Muppet.

"It's not so hard to believe, Ms. Prieto," He tried. "Our group consists of Math and Science whizzes, which may have been a bit of an oversight on my part. Kids are coming up with new excuses everyday to why they skip and it's getting harder to find replacements – I mean I've got Lis who's been busy with prom, and one of my smartest kids who's not been showing up to practice as much as I'd like."

His words sounded like he was giving himself anxiety. Still, he seemed hopeful as he kept on. "I remember when I taught you. I did, once or twice, take a look at your grades outside of Chem. You seem to have quite the penchant for the arts and history."

I quickly shook my head, a disbelieving little smile plaguing my face.

"Mr. Harrington, I have a feeling I know what you're getting at," I stopped him. "I really appreciate it but _wow_ , _no_. This all would be wildly out of my depth."

His face fell more at that, but in no way did I have the means to lift his spirits. I'd never participated in an extra-curricular activity before – let alone something that was the highest standard for _'hey, look at me, I'm smart'_. Hell, I'd never even thought about it until then.

My mind began flashing images of a possible future to me. Could this truly be my 'High School Musical' moment – could I truly be a less intelligent Gabriella, destined to meet my Zac Efron if I went down this path? I began thinking of all the members of our school's basketball team, wondering who it might be, when the loud, boisterous complains of Flash Thompson filled the air. He was throwing a hissy fit with the point-counter guy for not giving him the credit for an answer.

 _Ugh. Following down this path would get me stuck sitting next to that turd-wad for the rest of the semester, and that instantly made it not worth it._

"Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us," Mr. Harrington said warmly to me, making me sober up my thoughts. I genuinely felt bad for disappointing him, even with how sudden his invitation had been.

His hunched, anxious shoulders, walking away had me considering that I'd _at least_ think about it.

And that had put a conclusion to most of the exciting things school had in store for me.

Well, _most_.

There was still the occasional thing, well, _person_ that caused my attention to stray from the new routine I was setting up for myself. And by that, I meant that I felt like Harry Potter – an innocent, doe-eyed student who just wanted to do school right, until Voldemort shows up and suddenly everything's about dealing with him.

I had seen Peter Parker around.

Not every class, not every day, but certainly every now and then.

In that time, I believed I had come to learn many a thing about that boy. Firstly being that I don't think he deserved to be compared to the lord of all darkness – I couldn't even imagine him rocking up to school wearing black.

My second real finding, was that he skipped school at what was an alarming, erratic rate. And when he _was_ indeed around, he was _always_ late. It seemed that his tardiness got him into a world of trouble, leading into many of my failed encounters with him.

When I spied him, namely when we passed by each other in the halls – something would always keep either one of us from stopping to talk to the other, even from just saying hello. Whether it was the bell, or an upset teacher needing to talk to him for his absences, or Principle Morita trying to placate me by apologising time and time again for my new classes – _something_ kept us from talking.

A part of me was relieved, if I was honest.

It felt quite odd to have the attention of a boy. Not in _that_ sense, _god_. But even just a general interest in wanting to be friends. It felt odd to me.

When I thought about what I could say to him, my senses would just go a bit frazzled.

And yet, there were these moments, during interruptions where a teacher was squawking our ears off, where, for just a fraction of a second – our eyes would meet.

And then we'd look away, of course.

But then, the slightest glimpse and the smallest turn – and they would meet again.

It made a small voice in my head say that I did _–_ _actually_ want to talk to him – that I _did_ want to get to know him better.

But I guess I'd just have to wait for the right time.

He had surprised me a second time then. It had been through how he had defied many of the preconceived notions I had biting away at me since our first meeting at my shop.

He didn't actually seem to have a big posse of friends for one. In fact, he never left the side of his one friend. His Ned, if I remembered him say correctly on my first day.

When I did see them together, primarily at the cafeteria, they reminded me quite a bit of Michelle and me – by themselves, at the edge of an already occupied table, lacking the air of hostility that Michelle used to keep hoards of children away from us.

Then, on some seemingly random day, I found that our hallway game had followed us there.

We met eyes, seemingly at the same time, with me looking up from my book in harmless curiosity, and him looking quite unoccupied. It made a small part of me wonder whether he had already been looking towards my way.

He had stuttered in his movements, his hand that had been lifting a cookie to mouth seemingly having lost its grip. His attention was immediately drawn to his fallen treasure, and I bit my lip as I watched him drop the cookie, watching in absolute, abject _horror_ as it fell to the ground.

The suffering on his face was unlike anything I had ever seen.

 _The_ _ **trauma**_ _– I couldn't even imagine..._

I quickly looked back to the book I had been reading, feeling quite panicked at the idea that he would try and catch my eye again, and what I might do in response. Lunch drew on, with me only catching specific, timed glances in his direction to make sure he hadn't left already. I was after, devising a plan.

 _Baby Jesus, give me strength._

I easily broke Michelle from her literary trance, telling her that I needed to get to my next class a bit early to ask the teacher a few questions about homework, to which she narrowed her eyes at me. She was quite astute despite the guise that she always had the distraction of a book in front of her – it almost made me think she could see through my lie.

But I had my own tricks. The back and forth games I'd played with my mother from ever since I could form articulate sentences; they had honed my abilities to pass off a lie quite well. I also knew that she underestimated me, looking at me like I was some sort of soft, mushy stray animal she had been gracious enough to have taken under her wing.

After a beat, she made a face that just said _whatever_ , waving me off with a lazy two-fingered salute as her eyes drifted back down to her pages.

 _Ten minutes before the bell._

I got up and disposed of my lunch tray, making sure to swipe up the one thing on it that I needed. I straightened out my clothes and walked with as much grace one could muster wearing a lumpy sweater that had about a hundred different little flowers embroidered into it.

I passed my usual exit, deciding to take the one on the opposite end of the room. I, however, made sure to walk past Parker's table, not pausing for much more than a second as I deposited something that was wrapped in a napkin, near the front of his tray – the mission impossible theme playing through my head on a loop as I did.

I didn't dare look at him throughout the span of my actions, and even then I felt his eyes watching me. It was only when I was just out the door that I peeked back at him, seeing him holding up the choc-chip cookie I had left there. It made my lips quirk up into an amused smile to see him look so startled by such an ordinary kindness. It made me think that maybe he wasn't used to such a thing.

 _I did it out of pity. He practically looked like someone had robbed him for all he was worth, when he lost that one baked delicacy. So yeah, he needed it more than I did._

That's what I had said to myself, even though a part of me considered that it had been nice to do a good thing for someone who just radiated goodness himself.

Regardless of how I'd felt then, all _that_ had happened yesterday – and thankfully, the glorious weekend would shield me from having to face the consequences of when I saw him next.

The thought brought me back to the present moment. I was a good couple blocks away from Hank's shop now, and the shadows cast on the street were twice as long as themselves, the air was damp and cool, smelling faintly of a car's exhaust fumes.

The sky had settled into a soft amber, the red sun still just above the horizon. It wouldn't be long until sunset and I breathed in a little deeper, knowing where I'd be going next.

There had been so many distractions these past few weeks, what with those odd, dreamlike events I had lived through a few weeks prior, of becoming involved with the Avengers.

I hadn't heard much from that whole fiasco as of late, except for one ill-timed phone call on my cell at like _2_ in the morning.

I had been super bleary, having being woken out of my deep, almost comatose slumber, leaving not much brain to just dismiss the call and go back to sleep. No, I instead answered it to have heard Tony Stark's snappy voice on the other side.

"Kid! You're up, great. I was hoping you would be," He had said enthusiastically, the loud whirs of technology stirring in the background and stabbing my ears.

I groaned like a lake-monster into the receiver.

Stark hummed, sounding quite buzzed despite the absurd time. "Ah, I see. Not up, then. That's fine, we can work with that. Just listen–"

He went on into a spiel, instructing me to save his number and use it if I ever needed it. It was quite the odd thing to do, I considered – and the way he sounded as he told me about the possible dangers I could run into out there, _well_ , it made him sound like a bit of a concerned aunt. Or uncle. Or just a general worrier. Still, it gave me pause that he actually sounded concerned about my well-being.

I wondered too where he had gotten my number from, feeling the creep factor cancel out any _'aw'_ feels I had towards his care for my health. Did being a multi-billionaire mean you could just call up anyone in the world – because if so, I needed to ask him to snag me Keanu Reeves' number, if not for the sole purpose of ringing him up, quietly whispering _'whoa'_ into the receiver, before hanging up, never to call the man again.

"Got all that?" He'd asked, and I, not really wanting to admit that I'd just blacked out for half of his speech, nodded, before I remembered he couldn't exactly see me.

"I have never listened to anything harder," I slurred, ready to just fling the phone out the window – I'd hold Stark personally responsible and maybe then he'd give me the money to get something better than my old iPhone 4 and its busted screen.

I patted the phone as if I were trying to pat the man's shoulder. "Go take a nap, shiny man. And if you ever call me at this time again, god help me I will drive right up to your office and crash my van straight into those fancy glass doors. G'night."

And without waiting for his response, I hit the end call button, letting the phone fall to the floor. My nights since then had been undisturbed.

That had been the end of that – or well, the issue sat dormant, at least.

I had a gut feeling that I was in no way yet done with Tony Stark and his endeavours.

My feet skidded along the smooth stone of the sidewalk, just as I stayed as far away from the road as possible – I suppose my mind had gone a bit paranoid with the possibility of tripping into it again.

I had walked these streets my whole life, I knew them just the same as if they were etched in my head with a sharp knife, scored in deep like some strange work of art. These were the streets I grew up on. For the most part I was calm here, at home, on the down low with a steady heart beat.

It struck me then how I would feel none of that comfort tonight.

I was almost up to pass by an alley when I heard some hushed voices come from inside.

My hands instantly tightened onto my belongings, my instincts kicking me to walk faster.

A part of me worried that I'd be passing a gang of those thugs that had harassed Parker when we'd first met – knowing that they must've been serious if he had actually had to bolt from them like he had. I had read up on them a bit since then, and it seemed like there was a whole black market type of situation that took place amongst them, in alleys like these, where weird, new technologies would be bought and sold. The police had taken reports on some of them, with a few images from the internet showing me that they were blatant copies of old Stark weapons.

There wasn't much I knew in life, but wow did I know I wasn't equipped to handle _that_.

The steps I had to take became less and less, and I was determined to ignore them – who knew if making eye contact would bring on some unwanted attention.

 _Keep your head lowered, your movements brisk._

I was almost there when I heard a woman's voice – not even a woman, but a _girl_. It was meek and trembling.

I stopped, looking into the alley to see a group of men, huddled around a girl that couldn't have been any older than me. The sight of them crowding her personal space left a sour taste in my mouth, and an even grosser feeling of dread.

There were at least 10 of them, and _she_ was alone.

My mom always used to joke, "One boy, one brain. Two boys, half a brain. Three boys, no brain." It was funny to think of when she sounded so grateful for me being a single, female child, thanking her god that I'd never had siblings. But when the logic from her words came into context _here_ , all the humour was gone – seeing how none of these guys were thinking, and with all of them possibly armed.

I looked around me, panicked. The streets were far too empty to have attracted some help, _any_ help. There wasn't a person in sight.

I thought about running back to Hank's place for help, but it was too far at this point – and mom's shop, it too would've made everything too late. The police in Queens were notorious for sleeping on the job – being reason enough for how scumbags and gangs alike ran as rampant as they did at night.

But this was all happening in broad daylight, and no one was doing anything to stop it.

It would be no use calling 911, not unless I had half an hour on hand to hold for an operator.

 _Call me if you ever think you're in some serious type of danger._

Stark's words from that night struck me.

In a haze, I brought up the number I had saved. I was hiding against the wall now, out of sight but still able to see and peek glances at what was going down. I tapped my foot impatiently, with bated breath as my worries grew higher and higher.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

 _Pick up, god damn it._

I was at my limit when I saw one of those assholes grab at her, with the girl yelping like a trapped mouse.

I nearly dropped my phone, realising with a flash of disappointment that the call had gone right to voicemail. The rich _liar_.

 _You don't need to get involved._

An intrusive voice in my head was reaching out to me, presenting me with a vision of how I could just turn around and go back home. I wasn't really in the mood to listen to it.

 _Like hell I didn't need to do something._

I stepped right into that alley, despite my other options of turning tail to run, or even to have waited for help to walk past.

" _You better back off of her, or I'm coming over there with my abs,"_ I yelled into the alley, realising all too late that I was a colossal dumb-ass.

Still, there wasn't much else my nerve-shot brain could've really formulated given the circumstance.

My words had done the trick of stopping them when I saw all their movements halt.

The girl took the chance to escape the man's hold, but with the way in which they surrounded her, I saw how she didn't have any room to have budged past them.

I grit my teeth when I realised this would be tougher than I thought.

I felt a match of an idea light at the back of my mind. And with it, my face raised into an expressive look of worry.

" _Susie! I've been looking for you everywhere!_ " I cried out, plastering an annoying, excessively emotional whine onto my voice. I raced up to the group of people in trot that made me look like a child running to her parent, taking the thugs with some surprise. I took that chance to observe what it was I was dealing with.

They weren't _men_ , they were just boys.

Just as young as the kids I went to school with – they were dressed in old, ratty plaid shirts and slouched jeans, some with overly large leather jackets to give them the facade of looking bigger than they were.

Their numbers however did nothing to take the edge off, since I knew that two girls still never had a chance to overpower ten of them. Regardless, it was nice to know that they weren't thugs, capable of technology that may have rivalled Starks'.

Once I got to them, I put all my energy into my act.

It needed to be convincing, if we were both getting out of here.

Boldly stepping right in front of the man that had been grabbing at the girl, I shot a hand out, straight over his shoulder. It landed on the girls arm, and with a fake sort of sobbing, I pulled her roughly past the man and into my arms, practically throttling the poor girl, and making the most of our pretend reunion.

I saw the confusion and gratitude pool in her eyes, even if she was keeping silent. I turned around to push her towards the open alley, flashing her a look of urgency when I was sure none of the others could see.

"Go get your boyfriend, sweetheart. He's looking for you right outside on the street," I said to her in a saccharinely sweet voice, and she wasted no time moving – once she was sure none of the boys would follow her. No, their attentions were completely on me.

There, of course, was no boyfriend. But I sure hoped that these assholes believed that there was.

My heart was thudding against my ribs as I watched her, stepping forward to follow her with a huffy sigh that I hoped didn't waver with fear.

"That silly girl can never do anything right. I oughta' catch up," I said largely into the air with a short trickle of feigned laughs, knowing them to have heard me as I picked back up into a trot to follow her.

I was just about to break off into a sprint when a tall figure stepped in front of me.

How could I have not noticed him amongst the rest of them?

Martin Whetzel.

If Michelle had said that if she were an animal, she'd have been a Lynx – this boy was rat incarnate. But even that would've been a diss to rats.

He was a tall, gangly, Randal-from-Monster's-Inc looking snake of a boy. His hair made him look like a weasel that had been dipped in a tin of grease, the oily black strands sliding sideways across his face as he moved, inspiring the onslaught of unfortunate acne that marked his skin.

He smiled at me and it made my skin crawl.

"Oh, you really don't think that would've worked now, did you doll?" He crooned, hovering over me, with his shadow blocking any light left in the alley.

"Especially since the two of us have got some history."

I bit my lip, tasting rust. _Shit, shit, shit._

 _He actually recognised me? How the hell would I get out of this now?_

I realised, quite hopelessly, that my plan had failed. If he knew me, then he'd have certainly known I was a shy nobody from the planet Mars – and that I'd never had a friend called Susie.

I took two subconscious steps backwards into the alley, cringing when I realised he'd forced my movements with his looming presence. Still, I didn't dare break eye contact, not letting him think for even for a second that he had any power over me.

"Let me pass," I said once, sternly. I was met with his expectant silence, quickly realising that this was going down a bad road. I lifted my eyebrows, trying again in a lighter voice. "Open Sesame?"

He barked a laugh, nasally in its nature.

"See guys, what did I tell you? Famous for that sense of humour," He looked around at his gang of weirdo's. He was thoroughly creeping me out with how he spoke about me like we were old friends – despite knowing that I'd never payed him any attention in the past.

He looked down at me with what he probably thought was a charming expression. "I'm sorry, honey. I've been meaning to thank you for a little while now."

I couldn't help the disgusted curl of my lip.

"For what? Making sure that you have less time to skulk around and harass girls," I bit back, knowing that he had to, to some extent, attend school – and was therefore confined to the rules there.

If I had never taken the brunt of his punishment for him then he'd definitely have been expelled or suspended indefinitely – and who knows what trouble he'd have gotten up to with all that free time.

He didn't seem thrown to my punch at his skeezy habits, just looking prideful. "I know how you took the blow for my... let's call them my unfortunate _mistakes_."

' _Mistake you got caught'_ a voice sounded from behind him, followed by a dozen sniggers.

That small interruption gave way for one of the goons to call out to Martin. "Marty, should we go catch up to the other piece of tail, she couldn't have got far."

The thought of them going after the girl, and having this all be in vain, made my blood run cold.

"Nah, forget about her," Martin said nonchalantly after a second, momentarily easing my worry. "She was just some nobody from a school on the other side of town. Trust me when I say boys, this one's got a bit more bite."

He looked down his nose at me, that drawn out smile still plastered to his long face. "I mean, you can imagine my surprise when I found out about you. And what a shock too, knowing I was the reason such a sweet little thing had _so_ many new problems."

I cringed away, a further two steps back, growing more scared despite my efforts to convince myself I'd make it out of this. I truly didn't know what he intended to do, but I was assured it was nothing good.

"It was no biggie. _Really_. I'm just fine," I waved him off, in equal measures shooing him to step off. My eyes began to dart around. _I just needed an exit – something to distract him with_.

My efforts were paused when his lecherous, teasing expression died into something colder. He reached one hand into the spiked, leather jacket he'd probably bought with his rich daddy's blood-money. He pulled out a small switchblade that, if I were a hundred yards away and not under its direct glint, I probably would've laughed at its tiny size. His direct gaze was a warning.

"I don't think it would be all that smart of you to run off, not unless you want to put me in a bad mood," He said, trying to make his voice deeper in a poor attempt at pulling a Viserys. " _Or_ get hurt."

Unflinching, unblinking, he blocked my path like a perfect little psychopath. Principle Morita would've been proud.

The knife that was being toyed with in his thin, bony fingers, glimmered in the orange light as it was twirled in pre-practiced swish-flicks. He spoke without any nerves, without any empathy or remorse.

Footfalls in the trash behind me told me I was surrounded.

He grinned at me lightly, chummy again – almost as if he thought he'd magically just earned my friendship. "See, I've noticed you on your own. But that's fine! You can spend time with us from here on in. I'll be sure to make it something you won't regret it."

My hands shook as I stood there, my knees weak, arm's spaghetti.

He was almost too happy – smiling as if something good were about to happen. The world felt like it was falling through my feet. Good for him was bad for me. Very bad.

But hey, I was never really any good at avoiding things were bad for me.

And so, I sneered.

"I'd be licking dirt off the Unisphere before I ever willingly chose to step within a fifty mile radius of you," I spat out the words, my leg shooting out and kicking him straight where the sun didn't shine.

I watched him crumple to the ground, and I was ready to run towards my newly formed freedom.

But it was taken away, again.

There were after all, 9 more of them – and I only had two legs available to destroy groins.

One of the goons wrapped his arms around me and I struggled against him, shooting my right leg out – aiming for any weak-spots, but my movements were far too slow. Hands moving from my waist, the prick seized my arms, trapping them to my side. He pushed me roughly then, further into the alley, the gesture causing me to stumble.

Time seems to slow down when you're falling. In the seconds it took for me to reach the ground, I _knew_ it was going to hurt. I didn't need any super-powered foresight to know that at least.

My arms had shot out, abiding by my minds one simple command. _Not the face._ I mean, I just really couldn't have afforded a broken nose right now – or any days off to deal with injuries. I had homework, for Christ's sake.

My eyes watered and my skin burned at where my shoulder fell into the floor, my groceries and back-pack falling off from the force.

 _God, was this it?_

 _Would they kill me here?_

 _Would I forever be known as the idiot who left home to end up dead in a cold alleyway, all because she wanted Pop-Tarts?_

I fumbled once my senses came back and my vision wasn't so blurry.

 _Well, fuck that. I wanted to die happy, not now but as a pruny old lady with a hot robot husband at my side._

I crunched upwards as quickly as I could, trying with all my strength to get to my bags. I heard their footsteps behind me again and panicked, looking then to the cracks in the decrepit alley's floor.

Growing there were some small weeds, tall enough to reach the ankle.

 _If there was ever a time where I needed this to work more..._

I focused on them, reeling back in surprise as the little shot up to grab onto the legs of two boys, tripping them straight onto their noses, and eliciting some terrible crunching noises.

I wasted no time. I needed my back-pack. _I needed mace._

It was then, in that dirty alley, hidden away from the rest of the world, with no chance of anyone finding us, in a town where the police were useless and any passer-bys would have probably left me to my fate – did a noise break out.

It was cracking and zooming, going across me as if something had sifted through the air.

It had entered the fray so fast that I hadn't even registered something was wrong – not until I heard the grunts and shouts and screams from the boys who had ever-so-confidently been ready to shank me a second ago.

My hair went up with the wind, blocking my direct vision. And even then, nothing could've been able to stop me making out something red, blue and white. It moved agilely through the sky.

 _Captain America, my knight in shining armour? Was it you?_

 _If it was, then, I swear this was a dream I once had._

I spluttered away any hair, getting up and scanning the sight to see what I was dealing with. Two of the boys were knocked out on the ground, one laying flat on a nearby dumpster – five of the others were standing, alive and stuck to the wall. They were practically blanketed in an odd, white film that possessed a similar glint to Martin's knife.

 _It was silk._

 _I'd never been much of a conspiracy theorist, but in world where people could fly and turn into celery-coloured behemoths, seeing Aragog crawl out of the sewers to save my ass didn't seem too far-fetched of an idea._

And that's when my eye was drawn to where action was still in motion.

Three of the goons had their knives out, all aimed towards a figure who stood there, dodging all their swings.

A familiar figure.

 _Spider-man._

 _That hooligan._

I lived in a city where you never see the same person twice, but somehow, _some-freaking-how –_ he was quickly on his way to saving my life twice.

There was no time to gawk. Without thinking, I ran forward – seeing how he was clearly outnumbered. I could also see that one of the goons hadn't been expecting me to interfere, nor could he foresee my leg coming into harsh contact with the back of his knee.

 _Plants? Who needs plants? I'm going to assassinate you with my legs._

My brain had helpfully failed to notice that it was Martin Weasel himself who I had crippled – realising with haste how that may _not_ have been such a great decision.

With one of his legs down, he fell to his knees, his attention off of the super-hero and onto me instead.

" _You little bitch–"_ He grabbed for me, his face contorted into an ugly snarl, the hate evident in his eyes.

His fingers never met their target however, as he was tugged back – a string of white tied around his middle. The Spider-man promptly reeled back with alarming strength – and like Whetzel weighed the same as a Styrofoam peanut, flung him into the remaining goons.

They went down like bowling pins, clearly still alive from the sound of their whimpy groans.

I stood in the aftermath of it all, wondering who exactly had the power to, _practically single-handedly_ , take down 10 able-bodied guys. My eyes turned to face him, to where he stood in front of me.

It was odd to see him for the first time without the obstruction of broken-down car fumes, or without him just rushing off, or in a YouTube video where you needed to pause to see a blurry still. Like slow-motion – it felt unnatural for him to be so still.

We stood in awkward, unedited silence. He fidgeted.

"I swear I'm not stalking you," He said immediately, his tone a higher pitched squeak than I think _even I_ could ever make.

I registered my mouth drooping open. I hadn't really known what I was expecting.

Well, _one thing_ – I hadn't expected him to actually remember me.

I shook my head.

"Well I didn't think you were, but now I do," I said to him slowly.

After another beat of silence, I couldn't help the slow, disbelieving grin that forced its way onto my face. " _Y'know_ , I might have to start paying you to follow me round and make sure no one else pushes me into streets."

And with that, any awkwardness dissipated. I felt myself stand a little taller as he snorted, seemingly amused behind his mask. "You seem to do a lot of that."

I gave him a shaky smile. "Yeah, but this time you see, I totally had them."

"That would explain the falling," he retorted, not buying it in the slightest. Using his _webs_ then – because yeah, I hadn't known he could do that – he got to tying up the rest of the goons, making sure none of them would run off.

"I was gonna' spray them with this," I added lamely, showing him the now forgotten mace in my hands – wow, and I hadn't thought to use it before literally throwing myself into Whetzel's hostile path. It was a medical mystery, how I managed to get around with such an inefficient brain – the utter lack of common sense being one nugget of a whole combo meal of problems.

He nodded once, unconvinced. "You're saying that with a whole lot of confidence for someone who looks like they have to hold back tears whenever somebody yells at them. No offense, but do you even know how to use that thing?"

I balked. Having my pride directly put on the line, all because I'd been too lazy to have looked up a video tutorial on how to properly mace someone, I did the only sensible thing. I lied to the superhero. "Of course I know. You push the button. Voila. A face full of acid."

I totally ignored the fact that there were two buttons on the bottle, with a really complicated looking latch that itself would've probably taken 5 minutes to open.

The hero, with his almost make-shift outfit, crossed his arms casually. It made me consider that if he indeed went around without the mask and goggles, he'd probably just look like a hipstery kid who completely lacked a fashion sense.

"It's not exactly rocket science why you seem to fall face-first into these places, man. It's pretty self-explanatory by what's on your feet. I mean, god – no offense, but are those even real?" Even without any way to discern his expression, he seemed to nearly be cringing himself into another dimension.

He said the dreaded words, pointing to my feet in dismay. "Glitter-pink _crocs?_ "

I huffed, completely offended. "What is it with people and insulting my dress sense? I swear I've never had to face such disrespect before high-school."

"Probably 'cause you dress like you never left middle school," His shock over my ensemble was slowly dying down into amusement, judging by the stifled laugh in his voice. "I'm not usually one to judge, miss, but you should burn those."

I watched on wryly as he gave my shoes a disdainful one-off. Funny, for someone with a completely veiled face, he managed to be quite expressive.

"Har-har, _yeah_ , keep your witty roasts and one-liners for the bad guys. I bet you spend all your afternoons tirelessly thinking of what you'll say to them next," I poked fun at him before it reminded me of the scene around us.

I'm sure it would've struck any passerby as odd out of context. The sight of mysterious superhero just straight chilling in a dank alleyway, chatting away with a roughed up teenager – not to mention the near dozen mangled, groaning bodies that littered the space at our feet.

 _I couldn't believe I hadn't broken down into a hyperventilating heap yet._

I shrugged at it all, then looking at him. "How'd you find me?"

He shuffled around on his feet. "Might sound weird, but I can uh– smell the different chemical components of things like tears or sweat. Spider powers – heightened senses. Normally I can sense if it's out of fear."

I felt my mouth drop, the thought of such a thing simultaneously being so freaking cool and so terribly icky/gross/unnerving/take-your-pick, that it just sent a chill through me.

"What a time to be alive," I whistled, my brain beginning to run through other spider-like things he may have in common. I was really hoping he didn't lay eggs – this world couldn't afford the repercussions of such a thing.

He stuttered a laugh, no doubt realising he'd sent my brain on a loop. "Yeah, _that_... And it might also have helped that just a minute after my trusty skills of deduction were being put to use, a hysterical lady came stumbling around outside – screaming me down from my rounds to help."

I smiled. _Well, thank you Susie._

It was nice to know that in a world where countless Martin Whetzel's existed – humanity was still, at its core, _good_.

The possibility of what might've happened if she never went looking for help though... the possibility that she never got the Spider to come save my spine... The thought of that possibility, the alternate universe where it could come true... It just made me stare down at the asshole who was blinking in and out of consciousness on the ground.

I stumbled a few steps up to him. He had looked to damn scary before, but now... he was small and crumpled, like I could step on him and he'd give way under my shoe.

I didn't step on him though. I just wanted to make sure he'd listen.

I caught his Martin's, my gaze cold. "If I ever hear about you guys doing stupid shit like this again, I'll make sure that your idiot genes won't be passed on to any unfortunate kid. For good next time."

His head fell back and I knew he was passed out for good. I honestly didn't know if he'd buy my threat – but I was hoping he did.

I sighed, still crouched.

"What a day," I patted my legs. "All I want to do now is go home, rip off my scalp and eat."

"That's concerning, the middle bit," The soft, mousy voice of the hero responded. I was surprised he hadn't taken off during my little origin-story moment right there.

"What? My need to go home? I'm sorry my unwillingness to go to the malls like the other kids offends you, Spider-man," I said with my most confident voice, before shooting him a small smile. "I'm only messing with you. I've got no earthly desire to rip off any of my body parts. And I do have somewhere other than home to be, so there goes that."

Confident. I was showing him that I was confident. And with my voice, maybe I could be.

 _But why couldn't I just stand up?_

My legs had lost their nerve. But I couldn't let that stop me.

I shot up in an attempt to play it cool, but my limbs seemed to be in some kind of dispute with my brain as to which direction they should go in, and as such, I stumbled and lurched instead of moving with any type of ease.

I almost flinched when two gentle hands steadied me, one resting on my forearm and the other on my waist.

"Easy. Easy," The red and blue clad boy attempted to usher me. I'd be lying if I didn't say he was good at what he did. It genuinely felt like this wasn't just something he did for publicity, or to keep up an appearance, but that he actually cared.

Still, his gentle demeanour wasn't enough to offset was instinctual need to pull away from him – to want to show him that I was fine.

"I'm not a horse," I huffed, attempting to tug away clumsily.

I was again reminded that he was stronger than he looked, when his grip remained unbudged, yet all the more easy – like he wasn't even applying pressure.

"No? With those legs, you could've fooled me," He breathed and I turned a touch flustered over how close his voice was now, practically hitting the ring of my ear.

He was being mock-serious. "And I'm not saying you're a centaur. More like you've got at least three nerves holding you in place."

"Well, it's a good thing humans don't get put down when their legs go broke," I muttered. I waved him away from me, feeling bad now. The fight was over; there was no more danger to be duelled. I was just given him unnecessary problems now.

Softly, I shooed him. "You don't need to worry about me, spidey. Go off, be free – go save another troubled youth from one of the many other hoodlum gangs."

Just at the moment I could clearly imagine him nodding sharply before dropping me like a brick and waving me off with an _'adios amigo'_ before he was back up in the sky, did I notice him hesitate.

"I... don't think I can do that just yet," He said the words quite meaningfully, despite the fact I didn't at all know what he meant.

With even more of a hesitation to him, he gave me his hand.

"Do you trust me?"

And standing there, barely taller than I was – barely any more muscle-ly than I was, with a natural timidness to everything about him, despite the fact that he could take down the equivalent of an army, I could only stare at this _stranger_ – a boy I didn't know the name or face of, and all I could do was laugh a funny, breathless little laugh.

Because despite all the glaring signs that said I had no reason to trust him more than the neighbour who lived above us, who I had never once interacted with in all the ten plus years I lived where I did – I couldn't bring myself to _not_ trust him. I just couldn't.

 _So_ – I took his hand.

"You know what Aladdin?" the smile was evident in my tone. "I think I just might."

* * *

 **A/N – What is up my dudes, it's been a minute. SO much has happed since last chapter. Endgame, Far from home, the whole sony-disney thing (Ouch btw, it was good while it lasted).**

 **I'm not even going to get into that whole spiel, especially considering just how far back we are in the chronology of this story (And since the current state of things are just stressing me out). We haven't even got to civil war yet whoops. I'll just be focusing on things at my own pace instead of how fast those movies get going at.**

 **So yeah, what do you think of the chapter? There's a lot more of a continuation in the next one that I'm looking forward to.**

 **Anyone like the budding Slytherin/Hufflepuff relationship between Amalia and Michelle? Because I sure as shit do. I don't actually know if Michelle is more that or a Ravenclaw, so I'll let you guys decide – but we all can maybe agree that Amalia is a text-book plant-sniffing, tea-drinking, soft-hearted Hufflepuff bastard, for the most part maybe (I haven't a hundo percent decided).**

 **But yeah, I'm a slow, wretched writer, making this up as I go along without any original scripts to adapt and** _ **god being a writer is hard**_ **. Still, I love that so many of you love this – I MEAN LOOK 181 PEOPLE are following! Thank you so much! Really – I started writing this fic to be goofy and teenagy and to let off steam so thank you for sticking around for the ride.**

 **Hopefully, even if it takes the next ten years, this story will someday be finished with 50+ chapters and a satisfying end.**

 **Until the next time, see you BB's.**


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